


Locked And Loaded

by tristinai



Series: Bad Decisions [9]
Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Abusive Behavior, Alternate Universe - Human, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Angst and Feels, Blow Jobs, Deception, Drug Use, Drunken Confessions, Drunkenness, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Manipulation, Fluff and Smut, Jealousy, M/M, Makeup Sex, Morning Cuddles, Mutilation, Not A Happy Ending, POV Third Person, Platonic feels, RK900/Daniel, alternating pov, animal experimentation, background Hannor, background Tina/OFC, depictions of violence, dining and dancing, drug making, gangster au, gangster!Nines, heart break and sadness, hinted Kamski x Chloe, implied prostitution, post breakup, reed900, references to murder, references to past Convin, references to past Kamski900
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-19
Updated: 2019-05-17
Packaged: 2020-01-16 02:26:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 33,583
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18512002
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tristinai/pseuds/tristinai
Summary: In the aftermath of his break up with Nines, Tina takes it upon herself to cheer Gavin up by dragging him out to the Blue Tie Ball.





	1. Take Your Aim

**Author's Note:**

> Aaaaand we're back, with more gangster!Nines goodness! I am still amazed at how far this verse has come and that many of you are sticking around for the crazy ride. The last part ended on a pretty devastating note but there's always a chance for these two, so long as one of them stops being stubborn. Unlike the previous parts, _Locked And Loaded_ is broken into 3 chapters and an epilogue that primarily takes place over the span of a weekend. The main reason why I went with parts and not chapters for the rest of the series is because of all the time jumps. Plus, I feel that each part has been somewhat self-contained in telling a significant event that's happened in the verse.
> 
>  
> 
> That said, I will also mention that _Locked And Loaded_ is complete but unedited. Please bear with me as I am a slower editor than I am a writer. I have a posting schedule for the next chapters (attempting one every 7 to 10 days) but my job and real life might get in the way of the editing process. I will also **warn** readers (see the bold! This is important!) that this part goes from sad, to better, to heartbreaking af by the end of it. Keep an eye out for the tags as I post each chapter to make sure this is something you can keep reading.
> 
>  
> 
> Before I continue, I would like to voice much love and appreciation for [NixObscura](https://archiveofourown.org/users/NixObscura/pseuds/NixObscura) in all the support and feedback she's given to me over the last few months. While I often throw a dedication at the start of a new part, I feel as if everything I've ever stated pales in comparison to the gratitude I feel towards having someone as patient and motivating as her in my life. I've spent years reading fanfiction and even now, I can honestly admit that I am more comfortable being a reader than a writer because, though I occasionally get hit with inspiration, I never believed anything I wrote was that valuable or interesting. Having someone reach out and say, "This is good" may seem like such a small thing but it's the only reason this verse exists. So, although it's not nearly enough, thank you for being there for me and kicking my ass in gear when I thought everything I wrote was garbage. <3
> 
>  
> 
> To everyone else, thank you for all the lovely comments you have been leaving! I am still trying to get through a few more but I wanted to let you know that your encouragement has been incredibly motivating.
> 
>  
> 
> Edit: My tired brain does dumb things. Apologies to everyone who's reading experience was disrupted by my oversight. The offending repeated paragraph has been vanquished!

Gavin’s eyes slowly blink open, staring blearily at the digital clock on his night stand. It reads 4:17 AM and he has no clue why he’s awake so soon, fails to stifle a low yawn. It’s some hours before he needs to get up and begin his morning routine so he opts to get a bit more sleep.

 

A hand slides over his bare waist, gentle lips pressing to the back of his neck. And Gavin freezes. The familiarity of the gesture has his vision swimming.

 

“Nines?” he whispers, hoarsely.

 

He can feel those lips smile sadly against his skin. “Darling...”

 

A tear slips off his lash. He shifts, turns because he needs to looks him in the eyes, needs to see his face to know this isn’t some cruel trick his mind is playing on him. As he tries to shake off the last vestiges of sleep, he blinks away the rest of the tears that threaten to fall, eyes slowly adjusting to the darkness of the room. The faint glow of the city lights peek through the blinds and help him focus on that handsome face he hasn’t seen in _weeks_ , not since Nines walked out on Gavin the night they were supposed to meet at the hotel.

 

Swallowing a sob, Gavin throws his arms around Nines, pulling the gangster close, heart thudding with a dull ache in his chest. He presses his face to the crook of Nines’ neck, greedily breathes in his familiar scent, and the apologies are spilling before the gangster has time to react, every regret Gavin has carried in his heart slipping off his lips.

 

“I-I’m sorry,” he whispers, voice breaking. “F-Fuck, Nines, I’m so god damn _sorry._ I—I wasn’t thinking. I was—I just wanted to distract—”

 

“Shh, Gavin,” Nines answers, rubbing the detective’s back in a failed attempt to try and calm the sobs that have left Gavin shaking. “Shh, Darling...It’s okay...”

 

But it’s really not. These last few weeks have been the absolute _worst_ : Gavin’s shitty eating and sleeping habits had him up at all hours, neglecting to consume more than coffee and a quick bite whenever he could be bothered, periodically checking his burner phone to see if Nines had tried contacting him. Each time his shift ended, he rushed home but was met with the emptiness of his apartment, that creeping realization that he fucked up and there’s no taking back what he’s done.

 

He still sleeps with the phone under his pillow and nothing breaks him more than seeing the lack of notifications each time he touches the screen.

 

Gavin’s never cheated. Fuck, before Connor, he’d never had anyone keep him around long enough for a relationship to wear on him. He has, however, dated some assholes who took advantage of his chaotic work schedule to fuck around and that shit _hurt._

 

So to think of what Nines had felt seeing him with Connor like that…

 

“It’s-it’s not okay. Nines, I fucked up. I-I shouldn’t have...”

 

His voice cracks again and he allows Nines to cradle his face, gentle thumbs swiping away his tears. There’s a sadness in the gangster’s eyes that Gavin hates seeing because he knows he’s the one that put it there but he refuses to look away, bears the brunt of his guilt. All he’s wanted is for Nines to storm in his place, yell and scream and tell him how much of a shitty person he’s been. Gavin deserves no less than the gangster’s anger.

 

This silent treatment followed by Nines showing up in his bed and accepting Gavin’s apology before he’s even finished?

 

It’s only making Gavin feel even worse.

 

“It was an...unfortunate incident. And I admit I was angry,” and Gavin sees a dark look pass over the gangster’s face, contempt and disappointment making the detective swallow hard, “however, I see little value in fighting over something as silly as a _kiss._ Not when we can get straight to the part where you make it up to me.”

 

Gavin’s shocked to see a playful smirk on the gangster’s lips, offers no resistance when Nines pushes him onto his back. He slides between Gavin’s thighs and Gavin’s even more shocked to feel a hard bulge pressing against him, gasps as it brushes against his flaccid cock. But he’s feeling more awake now, the stirrings of desire sending blood rushing lower and fuck, he can’t believe he’s had to go so long without this, without having Nines here in his bed with him.

 

“I’ve missed you, Gavin,” Nines whispers softly, lips ghosting against his, “far too much to stay angry.”

 

And Gavin whimpers as Nines rolls his hips, arms thrown around the gangster, submits as the gangster kisses him hungrily...

 

_BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP_

 

Gavin startles awake at the sound of his alarm, hand reaching out blindly to shut it off. He shifts and groans as his hard on digs into the mattress, throws the covers off his sweat-laced skin, the air from the fan at his bedside hitting his slicked flesh. Fucking a/c is still out but like most things in Gavin’s life, he can’t bring himself to do anything about it. Not when he feels like garbage each time he awakens in his empty bed, walks out into his empty, mess of an apartment, and is reminded that, once again, he’s alone. Always fucking alone.

 

He pulls out the phone from under his pillow, something that’s become more routine than done out of any hope he will see anything different when he opens the screen.

 

No notifications.

 

He sighs, sets it down on the night stand, and rolls onto his back.

 

He stares up at the cracks in the ceiling, a pattern he’s traced with his eyes every morning, lets that dullness that seems to explode from the center of his chest creep into his veins until he’s left numbed by that ache he just can’t seem to fill.

 

He did this. He hurt Nines.

 

And Nines has made it clear he doesn’t want anything to do with him.

 

“F-fuck,” he utters, ashamed when he feels that familiar prickling in his eyes.

 

He thought he was over this stage of the break up, that stage where every reminder of what’s gone cracks him open once more. He fooled himself into thinking he was past that point the other night when he finally could bring himself to jack off over some shitty porn he was streaming on his phone. But then, it wasn’t enough and before he could help himself, he was taking the burner phone, looking through the dick pics and old video clips Nines had sent him, and before long, he was cumming to the sound of Nines’ name spilling off his tongue.

 

The aftermath was like the breakup all over again and Gavin spent the remainder of the night a complete, fucking mess.

 

And now...he’s got to face another day of Tina doing everything in her power to try and distract him from his break up with ‘Nick’, and Connor doing everything in his power to avoid him because he’s still pissed at the stunt Gavin pulled.

 

Fuck. His. Life.

 

With a sigh, Gavin drags his ass out of bed.

 

* * *

 

 

“Hey...you know, from this angle, you and Kamski kind of look alike.”

 

Gavin glares at Tina. Murderously. “I look nothing like that drug dealing prick.”

 

Tina smirks and turns her attention back to the TV in the break room. Some fucking interview with Kamski on one of his latest pet projects to ‘revitalize’ the south side. Gavin tuned it out minutes ago. “I’m just saying...you sure you’re not long lost brothers or something?”

 

“I swear to fuck, Chen—”

 

Tina laughs as she sidesteps Gavin’s attempt to elbow her. The coffee she’s been holding splashes off the sides of her paper cup and she mock frowns at her partner. “Relax, Gav: you know I’m just messing with you. No need to take it out on my coffee!”

 

“Stuff tastes like shit, anyway. I’m doing you a favor.”

 

“Some of us need the caffeine boost. You see those cases Anderson dumped on us earlier? It’s gonna take us forever to get through those.”

 

Gavin would normally be right on board for a good bitch fest over the shit ton of paperwork Captain Anderson’s been tossing their way and he’s got a sneaking suspicion that it’s Hank’s own way of dealing a bit of justice after Connor undoubtedly told him what went down in the hotel bar. He learned early on in Connor’s relationship with Anderson that Connor was a lot more forthcoming with Hank, far more than he’d ever been with Gavin.

 

But the detective can’t bring himself to be bitter about the extra work, not when the lack of distractions makes him think of his lonely apartment and the neglected phone sitting at his bedside table.

 

Tina’s smile slowly fades as she wipes off her hands, tosses the paper towel in the nearby trash. “Gav...it’s been a month now.”

 

Fuck, he’s not sure he’s in the mood for one of their heart-to-hearts.

 

He swallows heavily, sets his cup down on the table. Stubbornly, he folds his arms over his chest. “I’m doing fine, Chen.”

 

“Bullshit. When’s the last time you been out?”

 

“We had a stakeout the other night.”

 

“Work doesn’t _count,_ Gav.”

 

He knows but he’s not about to give her the satisfaction of being right. He was hoping he had at least another week or so of moping before Tina cracks down and makes it her mission to get him back out there. Last time, she left him to his own misery for a few months before intervening. Then again, ending a four year relationship was a lot different than months of fucking that was only just starting to get serious.

 

Except...was it really just months of fucking? Because for however fucked up things had been with Nines, something about them _worked._ Or, at least, Gavin thought it had.

 

He glowers and takes a deep gulp of his coffee. It burns all the way down but it’s better to feel anything other than the constant, empty hollow inside his chest, however brief. “If you’re thinking of dragging me out for beers, you can get fucked, Chen. We’re gonna be swamped all week and last thing I need is to be in some seedy bar after work.”

 

“Oh ye of little faith,” Tina says, going over to the coffee machine to make herself another one. She opts for the french vanilla and Gavin doesn’t quite trust the smile on her face. “...what if I told you there’s a place we can go with an open bar and a chance to meet many hot men dressed to the fucking nines?”

 

_Nines?_

 

Gavin forces himself to not fixate on that word, the dull pang he feels making his glare that much more miserable. It doesn’t take much for his mind to make the connections and almost immediately, he’s snapping, “No fucking way.”

 

“C’mon, Gav! Grace is working that night and I don’t wanna go stag!”

 

“Jesus fucking Christ, Chen, it’s not the god damn prom! You don’t need a fucking date!”

 

“Gaaav,” she pouts.

 

And that’s a low, fucking blow. Because Gavin may have become immune to the Stern pout after years of Connor abusing it to get his way in everything. But Tina’s a lot more methodical in her use of it, does it so sparingly and rarely that when she directs it at Gavin, he’s taken by surprise and caving immediately.

 

“Fine,” he says, moodily. He practically crushes his paper cup in his hand as he finishes off his coffee and tosses it in the trash. “When the fuck is it again?”

 

The Blue Tie Ball is something Gavin hasn’t been to in years. Connor gave up trying to get Gavin out to those, had merely sighed a few weeks ago when he indicated to the bulletin board announcement and Gavin had flipped him off. Gavin would usually rather pull a double than spend a night schmoozing with rich, self-important assholes. But if Tina’s asking him because her date’s working—and he knows she was excited to finally introduce everyone to Grace, would not shut the fuck up about it last week—then he’s gonna do his duty as her friend and take her out for a good time.

 

“This Saturday. I got an extra ticket, so you’re covered on that front.”

 

“I’ll go. For one fucking hour.”

 

“Three!”

 

“Two,” Gavin grits out, “and then I’m fucking out of there. And no dancing.”

 

Shit! She’s doing it again.

 

“Fine! Fuck. One dance. I mean it, Chen: _one!_ ”

 

Tina’s smile is way too fucking innocent. Asshole. “It’ll be fun, Gav! We can make a drinking game of it: a shot for each time we see one of Kamski’s bitches from the Sixth schmoozing with some sleazy politician.”

 

“Christ, Chen, I don’t wanna get alcohol poisoning.”

 

Tina laughs. “I’ll pump your stomach if you do. It’ll be no worse than the staff party of ‘36.”

 

There are some things Gavin would very much like to never remember. Lucky for him, he remembers fuck all from that time he got shit-faced. But Tina and Connor made sure Gavin never forgot it, both assholes taking videos of the dumb shit Gavin did that night and teasing him for months afterward with the footage. Pricks.

 

“Yeah, let’s not bring up ‘36.’”

 

“...I have never looked at that potted eucalyptus plant the same again...”

 

Gavin glares at her.

 

“Fine. Dropping it.” Tina smirks. “You better bring your A-game, Reed: none of those hot single studs will know what hit ‘em.”

 

“I can’t fucking wait,” Gavin mutters, sarcastically.

 

He’s met enough cops in this city to know his options are shit: the ones that aren’t trigger happy or that fucking full of themselves are trigger happy and _that_ fucking full of themselves while being paid to look the other way as Kamski and rival gangs divide the streets up like it’s a fucking game of Monopoly. Still...maybe a night of doing shots with Chen and ogling some of the eye candy is just the distraction he needs. Even if it’s in a room full of assholes.

 

Fuck...why does he always get roped into shit like this?

 

* * *

 

“Gav, when I said bring your A-game...”

 

Gavin gives her a dirty look and moodily slumps into the seat beside her. “I got held up after you left the station! I barely had time to get home and get dressed. Fucking Anderson had me working on that stupid—”

 

Tina elbows him. Hard.

 

He bites back his complaints as he sees Hank, hair and beard neatly trimmed, dressed sharper than he’s ever seen the man, make his way to the table, tumbler of whiskey in hand. All it takes is a slight narrowing of his blue eyes, mouth curling into a frown, and for not the first time in the last month, Gavin can’t help but think _He fucking knows._

 

The detective scowls back but says nothing.

 

“Didn’t think these formals were your thing, Reed,” Hank says, with forced civility.

 

“They’re not.”

 

Gavin tries not to feel self-conscious but it’s hard not to when Hank looks the best he’s seen him since the wedding—maybe even better, with all that healthy shit Connor’s been shoving down his husband’s throat—and Gavin’s in a wrinkled dress shirt and a suit that’s fitting a bit too loose after the weight he’s lost in the last month. The one that fits him better, the one he had been wearing the night at the hotel, is still sitting in the mountain of laundry he has at home. Not that he’d ever want to wear that fucking thing again.

 

He knows he looks like shit, his stubble a bit thicker than he usually keeps it, hair out of place, and dark circles beneath his eyes as if he hasn’t slept in fucking years. Some days, it feels like that.

 

But he puts on a stubborn air, defenses up, as he reluctantly adds, “Just here to hang out with Chen.”

 

“Grace couldn’t make it.”

 

Tina smiles but Gavin can see it doesn’t quite reach her eyes. He knows she’s bummed out and if anything good’s gonna come out this shitty night, it’s gonna be getting a real smile on her face. And he’s got a feeling that he better get started on working up to that dance he promised her.

 

First, he’s gonna need some liquid courage. If he’s gonna make an ass of himself in front of everyone, he’ll need the excuse of alcohol.

 

“Chen, you still drink those shitty Fireballs?”

 

“Shitty? I wasn’t the one who kept ordering Kamikazes the last time we went drinking.”

 

“Better than all that fucking tequila we did a few months ago.”

 

“Wasn’t that what you were drinking back at that staff party in ‘36?” Hank cuts in.

 

Gavin narrows his eyes. “We agreed: what happened at that staff party stays at that fucking staff party.”

 

“And on Youtube.”

 

“Yeah—WHAT?! CHEN, YOU BETTER BE FUCKING JOKING!”

 

Tina laughs. “Relax, Gav: your illicit affair with the office plant is safe with us. Right, Anderson?”

 

Anderson mutters something and Gavin doesn’t quite trust the smirk on the man’s face. Asshole.

 

“If you’re heading to the bar, get me a gin and tonic. Your first assignment as my date,” Chen says, with a wink.

 

“You also want to collar me and cut my balls off while you’re at it?”

 

“Oh, I’ve already got those: right in here.”

 

Tina lifts her purse and Gavin can’t help but chuckle as he heads over to the bar. That’s why he loved Chen: she can dish it as good as she can take it and if he didn’t have her around, he’s not sure if he would have made it out of both of his Stern break ups.

 

The reminder that he’s single still leaves a hollow ache in his chest but it’s a lot easier to ignore it as he offers greetings to his coworkers and some of the officers he knows from other precincts. He sees Allen from SWAT and they both acknowledge one another with a simple nod. He still remembers a time when he had the biggest hard on for the guy and had been crushed to learn the SWAT leader is about as straight as they come, though it’s never stopped him from admiring the man from afar. Fuck, does he look good in a bow tie.

 

The bar in situated away from all the tables, at the far end of the dance floor. Some couples have taken to the floor, swaying gently beneath the teardrop chandelier suspended from the ceiling. Others mingle along the edge of the dance floor, dressed in clothing made from fabrics worth more than Gavin’s old Chrysler. That same designer shit Nines is always—

 

Gavin takes a deep breath.

 

No. He’s not gonna think of him tonight. He’s here to hangout with Chen, not drag her down with his personal shit.

 

Reaching the bar, he orders two Fireballs, an Old Fashioned, and a gin and tonic. As he waits for the drinks, Connor comes up beside him, seems to realize almost too late who’s at the bar. Gavin tenses and a hint of color splashes across the lieutenant’s face, followed by a slight frown. But after a moment, he sighs.

 

 

“Why is it that even after our breakup, we still seem to always be fighting about something?” Connor asks, quietly.

 

Gavin shrugs. “Not sure if you remember but we were always at each other’s throats before we hooked up. You always had to be a fucking know-it-all—”

 

“—and you were too stubborn to be reasoned with—”

 

“—so the way I see it, we’re just doing what we always do. Minus the makeup sex.”

 

Connor looks like he wants to argue that because of fucking course he does but then the bartender is setting Gavin’s drinks in front of him and the lieutenant is ordering a glass of pinot gris. That disruption in conversation calms the lieutenant once more and Gavin feels a bit of guilt because, yeah, Connor’s the one who has been avoiding _him_ but he’s also the first one breaking the ice and trying to be civil. Gavin’s had weeks to do that but he learned nothing from their time together, is still as fucking stubborn as he was back in the early days of their partnership.

 

“Truce?” Connor offers.

 

Exhaling, Gavin says, “Water under the bridge.”

 

Connor gives him a small smile. He accepts his glass of wine and clinks it with Gavin’s before both of them take a sip of their respective drinks. The whiskey goes down pretty smooth but is not nearly as good as the stuff Nines usually brings to his place—

 

Fuck. He’s doing it again.

 

“I heard what happened with Nick.”

 

_Yeah, Con, way to go for the fucking jugular._

 

Gavin says nothing, tries to look less miserable as he takes another sip of his drink.

 

“I should have been there for you,” Connor continues and there’s no denying how genuinely apologetic the lieutenant is, “not angry over whatever was going on with you that night. I’ve been a pretty shitty friend.”

 

Gavin wants to voice his agreement but that’s hardly fair. Given Gavin’s initial refusal to let go of their past, Connor’s done his best with their awkward friendship while the detective secretly fucked his brother behind his back.

 

So putting it all in perspective, maybe Gavin’s not the one who should be playing the victim card.

 

“I’m the asshole who kissed his married ex-boyfriend in a hotel bar,” Gavin says. “Your conscience is clean, Con. You don’t need to apologize for my shit.”

 

Gavin can’t even think of that kiss without cringing in self-disgust. And it’s so strange to feel like that, given their history.

 

“That’s not the reason you two…?”

 

Gavin swallows the huge lump that’s formed in his throat. “Yeah. He saw us and he...he thinks...”

 

He doesn’t want to have to say it out loud. The regret is something he bears, his punishment for what he’s done to someone he believes loves him—or _had_ loved him. The worst part of it all is that each time he admits it, out loud or in his own head, he cannot erase the pain he had seen in Nines’ eyes, that look of betrayal that haunts him. This is someone who’s given himself to Gavin in ways Gavin knows Nines has not given himself to others and Gavin threw all of that away in a moment of stupid, senseless panic.

 

“You’ve clearly been upset recently. And I’ve known for some time that you’ve moved on from our relationship,” Connor starts, contemplative. “Yet there is something about all of this that I can’t help but wonder: if you’re this distraught about Nick leaving you, why did you kiss me that night?”

 

There’s a curiosity in his eyes that borders on a suspicion that leaves an unsettling feeling in Gavin’s chest. His grip tightens on his drink and he tries not to let his surprise show because he’s always been an open book for Connor, even when he doesn’t say anything: Connor can tell when Gavin’s lying or avoiding the truth and the only reason Connor’s probably not called him out on his shit these last few months is either he’s affording Gavin his privacy or secretly putting together the pieces.

 

“I, uh—”

 

Connor’s eyes widen, choking back a sound of surprise. Gavin panics because he’s not said anything incriminating and no fucking way has Connor figured it all out in a single fucking word. That’s quick, even for him.

 

But then he sees that Connor is looking over his shoulder. So Gavin turns, glances across the dance floor and cusses in surprise as he sees what’s caught the lieutenant’s focus.

 

Strolling smugly into the room as if he’s the fucking emperor making his way to his gilded throne, Elijah Kamski enters with his entourage, arm in arm with his personal assistant Chloe Weber, who Gavin remembers from the case files. How the chemist from Yale ended up working for that shit bag is beyond Gavin’s understanding but he’s guessing that her area of expertise made her a lucrative match for someone supplying the streets with all sorts of shit people can shoot up.

 

But even that’s not where Connor’s focus is, as Kamski waltzing into a room filled with cops, a good chunk of which the asshole’s paid off, is hardly new. No, Connor’s looking at the same god damn face that Gavin is, the taller figure following the drug king: eyes as cool as a winter storm, smirk as coy as it is calculating. Richard ‘Nines’ Stern, the man who’s made it his mission to limit public appearances, to operate for Kamski in the shadows, is swimming through these shark infested waters as if he’s covered in chum and daring any of them to take a bite.

 

And, of course, the arrogant prick looks hotter than fuck in his ‘ _Take a look at what you’re no longer fucking, Gavin’_ suit. No way was that color of tie and cut of his suit not intentional as the last time he wore something like _that_ around Gavin, Gavin had been two seconds away from blowing a load in his pants.

 

Nines looks in their direction and Gavin almost swears he sees a savage ire burning in those glacial eyes but then, Nines is smiling charismatically. And he winks.

 

The tumbler Gavin was holding falls to the floor and shatters.

 

“Gavin!”

 

A hand settles on the middle of Nines’ back, gently directing the gangster’s attention back to the group. An explosion of jealousy has Gavin ready to sprint across the room, rip that asshole’s hand away from him, because how dare that attractive looking fucker touch _his_ Nines. Whoever the fuck he is, Gavin’s gonna—

 

“Gav!”

 

There’s a firm grip on the detective’s shoulder, breaking the rage-fueled trance he had fallen into. Gavin’s expression is vicious as he grits out, “Who the fuck does that asshole think he is?”

 

“...you need to calm down, Gav,” Connor says in a frantic whisper. The detective finally notices the eyes on them, the scene that he has inadvertently caused. “Many of us expected Kamski to show up tonight. It...was something we had discussed earlier during a case debriefing.”

 

Connor thinks he’s talking about Kamski. Good.

 

But also _Who the fuck does that asshole_ _Kamski_ _think he is?_

 

“I’m not on the case anymore, remember?” Gavin can’t help but add, bitterly.

 

Connor looks down, guiltily. “I wasn’t expecting you to be here tonight. Otherwise, I would have warned you.”

 

“Your skills in foresight also have you predicting he’d bring his whole fucking gang with him?”

 

“That...is something we hadn’t anticipated.”

 

Connor’s eyes linger across the room, follows the path his twin brother takes. As Nines converses privately, getting way too fucking close to his attractive, fair-haired companion, Gavin notices a sad look pass over Connor’s face and, for a moment, he forces himself to forget his shit and remember that this is someone Connor hasn’t seen in a decade, much less been in the same room with.

 

“Hey, Con...you okay?”

 

Connor snaps out of whatever train of thought he was trapped in, though the sadness doesn’t quite leave his expression. “I...need to get back to Hank. He threatened to return home early if I leave him to the ‘ass-kissing fuckers’ for more than a few minutes.”

 

Gavin really can’t blame the captain, catching a glimpse of him at the other side of the room, tight-lipped and enduring a conversation with the asshole who runs the sixth precinct. “Better get your ass in gear, Con. ‘Ass-kissing fucker’ at your five o’clock”

 

Connor leaves Gavin at the bar, cutting across the dance floor so that there’s no way he would have to pass by Kamski and his group. As Gavin waits for a new drink, he downs both of the Fireballs, fails to keep himself from glaring in the direction of his ex-lover and whoever the fuck he brought with him to this ball. In that, he’s not alone as he notices other officers, the ones not paid to lick Kamski’s feet, casting dirty, discreet looks in their group’s direction. Even Allen looks noticeably pissed from where he’s chatting with Fowler.

 

“You started without me,” Tina accuses, stepping around the broken glass. She orders two more shots and takes the gin and tonic left on the bar.

 

“You would too if you saw who the fuck just walked in here.”

 

Tina leans into the bar as one of the servers cleans up Gavin’s spilled drink. “Half our department’s been working all year to put them away and they walk in as if they own the god damn place? Pretty sure that’s what we meant back in junior high when we said, ‘Big dick energy’.”

 

In Nines’ case, that’s entirely true.

 

Great. Now Gavin’s also missing his dick.

 

Fuck everything.

 

“And now asshole’s cozying up to the fucking mayor,” Gavin grumbles, taking one of the new shots. “Betcha some of that nice campaign funding came from that crook’s pockets.”

 

The election isn’t for some time but Gavin has no doubt Kamski’s funneling money into whatever ‘projects’ Mayor Douglas needs. All so he can have someone in the right place to ensure there are no road blocks in his own plans. It’s gross how they openly greet each other like old friends, makes Gavin’s skin crawl at the blatant corruption in this fucked up city.

 

The blond man standing beside Nines leans in to whisper something to the gangster and Gavin’s stomach churns.

 

Before he can throw back his shot, Tina yanks it out of his hand.

 

“The fuck, Chen?!”

 

She swallows and sets the empty shot glass on the bar. “I’ve got to catch up to you. Don’t think I’m gonna let you get drunk off your ass and weasel your way out of our dance, Reed!”

 

“Fuck off, Chen. I can handle my liquor.”

 

“There’s a video on my phone from ‘36 that shows you _can’t_.”

 

Drinks in hand, they head back to their table seated, thankfully, almost as far from Kamski and the mayor as physically possible in the dining space. Gavin manages to get through his Old Fashioned and does another shot with Tina during the dinner, only picks at his food since he’s not really into whatever fancy shit they’re serving that evening. With the open bar and five course meal, he imagines the tickets were expensive as shit and mentally notes to make it up to Tina in the near future.

 

By the time the speeches are given, he’s got a good buzz going and shifts in his chair so he has no excuse to glance across the room to where his ex-lover sits. The few times he did during the dinner, Gavin saw those same lingering touches Nines used with Marcel back in the loft, felt the bitter sting of jealousy whenever Nines smiled or laughed with his companion, always within each other’s personal space. There are no stolen kisses in hotel rooms, no tender words expressed behind closed doors: this is Nines being out in the open on a _date,_ being flirtatious and charming with someone in public in a way he never could have been with Gavin.

 

Gavin doesn’t expect it to hurt as much as it does but seeing Nines like this reminds him too viscerally of what he never could have with him. What will never be.

 

So he refuses to look in that direction for the rest of his night. But like all of his best laid out plans, he also manages to fuck that one up, too.

 

“Finally! Your two hours are almost up, Cinderella,” Tina teases, nudging Gavin. “Let’s get that dance in before your carriage turns into a pumpkin.”

 

“My pumpkin can drive circles around that automated shit you call a car.”

 

Tina’s laughing and Gavin lets her pull him out of his chair, tug him along through the sea of tables. “Don’t you even try and compare my SWISH to your old beater! That thing’s gonna get you in an accident one of these days, Reed.”

 

“At least I can drive stick.”

 

“You’ll be thrown through the windshield and splattered across the highway but, rest assured, we can say, ‘He knew how to drive stick’ in your eulogy. Your street cred is saved.”

 

“Better put it on my fucking tombstone, too, or I’m haunting your ass.”

 

They navigate their way to the dance floor, smack talking each other’s vehicles and arguing over who’s the better driver. With an upbeat song playing—some shit Gavin remembers being big in the 20s—Tina pulls him to the edge of the dance floor and begins doing some ridiculous move that almost has Gavin pissing himself from laughing so hard. She playfully bumps him with her hip, says, “Show me those moves, Reed!” before Gavin decides, ‘Fuck it’ and attempts to mimic her.

 

They look like fucking idiots. But seeing how much happier Tina is compared to the start of the night, Gavin can’t give a shit what anyone else thinks.

 

As the song picks up, he lets Tina lead them into some crazy dance step he swears came out of one of those fucking dancing games she’s always playing. He’d seen her do the same thing at Connor’s wedding last year and he recalls, while he was drunk out of his mind to try and forget where the fuck he was, Tina had tried to show it to him. So he follows along as best as he can.

 

Shifting his feet, his gaze falls to the one place he’s tried avoiding all night, sees Kamski whisper something to Nines. An uncomfortable feeling settles in his gut and he turns away, tries to keep a frown from forming on his face.

 

He won’t let it get to him. Who the fuck cares what they’re up to?

 

The song ends and Gavin’s job is done for the night: he did shots, danced with Tina and, most importantly, cheered his partner up. And he had an alright time, despite _some_ of the company in the room.

 

A slow song starts up and Tina stops, a happy grin on her face. There’s something almost wistful in her dark brown eyes. “Thanks, Gav. It means a lot that you came out with me tonight. I officially relieve you of friendship duty.”

 

With a devilish smirk, Gavin pulls Tina into his arms, and slowly begins to sway with her. “Don’t think you can get rid of me just yet, Chen. I think I got one more dance left in me.”

 

Tina laughs, settles comfortably in the awkward dancing position Gavin’s got them in since he really has no idea what the fuck he’s doing. Gavin can see the endearing smile on her lips and yeah, that hits him right in the platonic feels. “You know, Gav, if you were anyone else, I’d be kicking you in the balls right now for manhandling me like that.”

 

“If you didn’t, you wouldn’t be my bad ass partner, Chen.”

 

“You’re gonna make me cry if you don’t stop being such a sweetheart, you asshole.”

 

“Shh, Chen, keep it down—can’t go letting everyone know my cranky ass has gone soft.”

 

They both flip Chris off as he makes cooing faces at them and quietly agree to prank him on Monday. Maybe something old school, like switching out the sugar for salt. Guy puts way too much of that shit in his coffee anyway. Connor and Hank are a bit farther away from them, too lost in each other to notice anyone else on the floor. So for the moment, Gavin quietly enjoys being with his partner and lets all his worries slip away.

 

“Excuse me? Would you mind if I cut in?”

 

_That voice…_

 

Tina grins. “Yeah, he’s all yours, Con—”

 

The name dies on her lips as Nines smiles charmingly, takes Gavin’s hand and pulls him into a proper dance position.

 

“Thank you, Detective Chen.”

 

From over Nines’ shoulder, Gavin sees Tina exchange a worried look with him. He stiffly shakes his head, tenses in the hold the gangster has on him and as they begin to move, feels that creeping trepidation turn into a full out flush on his cheeks. Somewhere off to the left of them, Hank is holding Connor back, who looks ready to lunge across the floor, a conflicted glare on his face. Tina has moved out of the way but Gavin sees her lingering at the edge of the dance floor.

 

Heart thrumming erratically in his chest, Gavin slowly turns his gaze back to his dance partner. Every apology he’s wanted to utter, every expression of regret and longing he’s been dying to say suddenly deserts him as he feels too many curious eyes on them. But that tension is nothing compared to the hard look in Nines’ eyes, even as he sways them with a charismatic lilting of his soft lips, a smile that’s as fake as his gaze is cold.

 

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” Gavin hisses.

 

He’s starting to panic. If people see them like this, see how close Nines is holding him—

 

“Dancing, detective. Or are your skills in observation failing you once more?”

 

Nines’ hand slides far too intimately down his back, pushing him a hairsbreadth closer. Gavin grips his hand tightly and for a moment, he loses himself in the scent of familiar cologne, the warmth of Nines’ skin he imagines is radiating through the layers of fabric. He has only to press in a bit more to feel that firm chest against his, bury his face in the crook of Nines’ neck, and let his hands curl around the gangster’s back, holding him tightly so that Gavin can pretend for one moment that they can go back to being what they were.

 

But he doesn’t move those few inches closer, doesn’t indulge those urges. Though he wants to—seized by a yearning that makes him _ache_ for more of the gangster’s touch—he stiffly allows Nines to sway them, blush reaching the tips of his ears.

 

Fuck, now he can see even Fowler giving him a _look_ from the edge of the dance floor.

 

“You take off before our date, don’t text or even stop by for a fucking _month_ , and then you show up to a fucking Police benefit and start dancing with me?” Gavin whispers, the hurt in his chest becoming the anger that cracks in his heated voice. “How the fuck do you expect me to react?”

 

“I expect _you_ ,” Nines whispers back, voice low and threatening in spite of the pleasant smile on his lips, “to _not_ cause a scene. There are many eyes on you, detective: no need to draw any further attention to yourself.”

 

“They’re looking at us and probably wondering why the fuck I’m dancing with a _murderer_!”

 

Gavin holds back a cry of pain as Nines’ grip on his hand tightens, yanks the detective right up against his hard chest. Heat creeps down Gavin’s neck but it’s not near as hot as those soft lips that ghost against the lobe of his ear, the exhale that makes a shiver crawl down his spine. His dick takes a keen interest in having Nines this close to him as his heart hammers wildly.

 

“I would carefully consider my choice of words if I were you, Darling,” Nines whispers, his sultry voice uttering the term of endearment with a touch of venom. “You never know who may be listening.”

 

But Gavin’s not about to be pushed around or let Nines play him in a room filled with officers from the DPD. Nines ghosted him for a god damn month and he won’t take that shit lying down, even if he had his own hand to play in the gangster’s disappearing act.

 

So Gavin does what he’s always done when backed into a corner: he bares his teeth.

 

“What, Stern? Getting a bit too honest for you?” Gavin all but sneers, “Thought you always said you’re not gonna lie about who you are.”

 

“I find a particular kind of irony in your attempts at lecturing me about honesty.”

 

Nines grip loosens enough that Gavin can pull back to glare up at the haughty prick. Fucking height differences. “You wanna play honest? You can start by telling me who the fuck’s been hanging off you all night!”

 

“I fail to see how my association with Daniel has anything to do with the outright hostility I’ve been met with,” Nines says, feigning offense. Gavin knows the asshole well enough to see the charade that’s being put on for him. He knows nothing at all about the gangster’s irritated and jaunty behavior is genuine, that Nines is leading him like a conductor leads an orchestra. To what end, Gavin has no clue. “I’m allowed to _date_ , Gavin, given that I am otherwise _unattached._ ”

 

And there it is, the poison-tipped arrow that pierces its target, delivered with the precision of a sharp gaze and a steady voice that doesn’t falter. It strikes Gavin with ten times the force any malicious insult Nines could come up with to attack his insecurities, hurts even more because of how cold and detached Nines is as he says it.

 

Nines is _done_ with him. And though Gavin knew this is what the gangster intended the moment he removed himself from Gavin’s life, hearing it out loud sends a new, unexpected wave of hurt the detective isn’t prepared for.

 

“Don’t do this,” Gavin whispers, the face in front of him swimming in his watery gaze. “Nines, babe—”

 

“Do _not_ call me that!” Nines says, sharply. The forced smile on his face falters, a look of unexpected hurt in his gray eyes. And Gavin’s recalling that moment when everything changed between them, when Nines looked as if his entire world had crumbled before storming out of the hotel. All because of Gavin. “Do try and conduct yourself. We are in the middle of a ballroom.”

 

Gavin’s sick of the pretense. He pulls out of the gangster’s grip and angrily jabs him in the chest, no longer caring who the fuck stares. “Fuck all this bullshit. You’re the one that walked out on _me_ and you have the fucking nerve to play it off as if I’m making a big deal out of _nothing_? How about you stop playing me and tell me what the fuck’s really on your mind, Stern?”

 

If possible, the gangster’s gaze grows colder though there’s a hint of a waver in his voice as he whispers, heatedly, “You don’t get the luxury of knowing anything about me, detective. Not anymore. You made your choice. And now, I have made mine.”

 

“Ni—”

 

“Is there a problem here?”

 

Hank Anderson gets right in between them, standing to his full height and glaring at the gangster. Keeping Gavin behind him, the police captain looks more intimidating than Gavin’s ever seen him, his expression almost challenging Nines to try and fuck with him. In a way, Gavin’s unexpectedly touched that Anderson would come to his defense. But it couldn’t have happened at a worse possible time.

 

That annoying fake-as-shit smile is back on Nines’ face, who makes a gesture of concession, “A simple misunderstanding. I thought Detective Reed was a man I had once shared a drink with. He bears a striking resemblance to an acquaintance of mine, Dex. But it seems I was mistaken.”

 

Name-dropping his undercover ID after Gavin filed that bullshit report? Dick. Fucking. Move.

 

“Yeah, you were,” Hank says, not backing down an inch. “So move it along.”

 

Nines excuses himself with a simple nod of his head.

 

Once the gangster is gone, the captain turns to look at Gavin and already, Gavin can see the suspicion in Hank’s eyes. He’s about to say something, most likely demand what the fuck that was all about, when Gavin says, hastily, “I, uh, need to use the restroom.”

 

He hastily goes across the dance floor, not even addressing Tina as he makes for the exit to the hall. Though there are bathrooms in here, he needs to get away from the crowd, from all this shit, before he cracks and invites even more fucking questions.

 

Walking down the brightly lit hallway leading towards the entrance of the building, he ducks down a side corridor into the men’s restroom. Once inside, he splashes cold water on his face, pauses to take a long, shuddering breath, and tries to calm the rapid pounding in his chest. In his head, all he can hear are the words _date_ and _unattached_ and it’s as if the wound is being reopened, each stitch being pulled from the crudely sutured cut until he’s bleeding out once more.

 

 _You fucking asshole_ , he thinks, pinches the bridge of his nose as his eyes prickle once more, _you fucking…_

 

“ _You made your choice.”_

 

And Gavin realizes that the person he’s accusing of being the _fucking asshole_ is himself.

 

He sees Nines for the first time and what does he do? He’s the one who gets angry when he should have been the one _apologizing_. No wonder Nines fucking left him: Gavin cares more about his hurt pride than the hurt feelings of the man he loves.

 

He has to get Nines alone, away from the prying eyes of everyone else, and do the right thing and tell him how fucking sorry he is. Even if it comes to nothing. Tonight might be his only chance.

 

Swallowing hard, he stalls for a moment, attempts to smooth down the wrinkles in his suit and fix his messy hair. He looks like a god damn disaster and compared next to _Daniel_ , he has a hard time seeing why Nines would waste even a minute of his time with Gavin when he can be with his attractive date. At least Daniel doesn’t seem like the kind of prick who will kiss Nines’ twin brother in front of him. Not unless he wants to get murdered by Hank. Fuck, Hank was scary as shit out there—

 

_Stop stalling, asshat._

 

With one final look in the mirror, he then turns on his heel and exits the restroom. As he walks down the corridor, he catches a glimpse of Nines walking swiftly towards the main entrance of the building. Gavin’s about to pursue him but then it’s almost as if he’s seeing double, a doppelganger in a deep navy suit hot on Nines’ heels.

 

“Rich! Rich—wait!”

 

Gavin presses against the wall of the corridor, peers cautiously around the corner. He sees Nines stop and it’s so weird to watch Nines respond to anything other than his nickname or adoptive surname. Nines turns to regard Connor with suspicion, seeming undecided on remaining or continuing his exit. There’s a decades old tension between them as the two nearly identical brothers stare at one another. Gavin’s own breath is caught in his throat as he waits to see who will crack first.

 

Then, much to his surprise, Connor’s throwing his arms around Nines and hugging him tightly.

 

There’s a startled look on Nines face, gray eyes wider than Gavin’s ever seen them. All the gangster’s defenses are down and slowly, almost too cautiously, his arms are sliding around Connor and he’s embracing his brother just as tightly. Gavin knows this isn’t for him to see, and he feels guilty to be watching as this private moment unfolds in front of him. But he finds he is unable to look away.

 

“You are not worried what anyone will think if they see us like this?” Nines asked, hesitantly.

 

If anything, it makes Connor hug his brother tighter. “It doesn’t matter, Rich. You’re my brother. I—I just want to know that you’re okay.”

 

“I...am,” Nines says, seeming very uncertain of what to say. Gavin’s rarely seen the gangster at a loss for words. “I have been okay.”

 

“I should have been a better brother,” Connor says, as he pulls back, reluctantly lets go of his younger twin. He shakes his head, his shoulders quivering as he continues, “I should have helped you when you needed me. I should have—”

 

“You should have but you _didn’t_ ,” Nines cuts in and Gavin can see the gangster putting up his defenses, replacing his chipped armor before he lets Connor see any more of his vulnerability. “I’ve learned to take care of myself.”

 

“By affiliating with Elijah Kamski? Rich, you know that’s—”

 

“I don’t see how you are in any position to judge me.”

 

Connor falters. “I—you’re right. But you know he’s only going to keep using you. I don’t want you to end up like everyone else he no longer has any use for.”

 

“Your concern is noted,” Nines says stiffly, his demeanor haughty. “But you do not get to give me life advice after ten years of absence. You do not understand what I’ve had to do to _survive._ How could you, when both you and _Amanda_ thought it best to dispose of the only problem disgracing the Stern family.”

 

“I was _angry_ , Rich. I—I said things I wish I could take back that night,” Connor says, sadly. “And I wanted to contact you. I _tried._ But you disappeared completely. You never gave me a chance to tell you how sorry I was.”

 

And fuck if Gavin doesn’t know what that feels like.

 

“I’ve spent my entire life being cast aside whenever I became someone’s _inconvenience_ ,” Nines sneers, though not even Gavin misses the miserable crack in the gangster’s voice, the shame at admitting to being anything lesser than he perceives himself. “So you’ll forgive me if I hadn’t wanted to remain within reach only to learn my own brother had abandoned me, too.”

 

“Rich...”

 

“Are you finished, Lieutenant?”

 

Connor hesitates. “Whatever it is that you’re involved in, please...don’t drag Gavin Reed into it.”

 

Gavin’s as surprised as Nines is to hear his name being brought up.

 

Nines regards his brother suspiciously. “And what makes you think I am in any way involved with him?”

 

“I...saw you two arguing. Inside. He’s...he doesn’t always make the best decisions.” _WHAT?_ “He can be somewhat reckless,” _Fucking hell, Con!_ “and he’s been through a lot, lately. Whatever your interest in him is, I am asking you to please stay away from him.”

 

Nines’ gaze flickers over Conner’s shoulder, staring directly at Gavin. Gavin pulls back, presses against the wall of the corridor but he knows it’s no use: Nines probably knew the entire time Gavin was listening in on them.

 

“I assure you, _brother_ , I have nothing resembling ‘ _interest’_ in your precious detective. In fact, from the few minutes of conversation I had to endure, I can say with full confidence that he is the most irritable,” _THE FUCK!_ “obnoxious,” _I’m the fucking obnoxious one?!_ “uninteresting moron I have had the misfortune of meeting.” _PRICK!_ “If this is the best your department has to offer, it’s little wonder your pet blew his cover not a week into your little operation.”

 

_Fucking hell, Nines! Why not tell him you’ve been fucking me, too!_

 

For the life of him, Gavin can’t figure out what has made Nines so uncharacteristically reckless in dropping every god damn hint that he knew about the uncover op, the very thing Gavin’s lied about in his report. If the asshole keeps it up, Gavin’s gonna have a shit ton to answer to when he heads into work on Monday.

 

“I have no idea what it is you’re referring to,” Connor says but Gavin can hear an audible waver in the lieutenant’s confidence and knows Nines has got him by the balls.

 

“You’re a clever man, lieutenant. I am sure you will figure it out.”

 

“If you mean to implicate yourself—”

 

“I would confess but there’s hardly as much fun in that,” Nines interrupts him. His voice is practically shaking with amusement. “We both know, Con, that you won’t do anything about it anyway. Not when you have your own skeletons in the closet.”

 

_What?_

 

Gavin peeks around the corner and even though he’s looking at the back of the lieutenant, he can tell Connor is visibly shaken.

 

“I never expected you to resort to petty threats,” the lieutenant says.

 

“I am merely stating the facts, given your behavior thus far. What would your _darling husband_ think if he knew that all it takes is a little _push_ for you to become exactly like me?”

 

The color drains from the lieutenant’s face but instead of fear or anger, Gavin’s surprised to see something like pity in the lieutenant’s expression. It also has Nines’ smirk faltering.

 

The lieutenant releases a shaky sigh. “I...should get back to my husband.”

 

There’s something like regret in the look Nines’ is giving his twin as he adds, quietly, “You should. Give my best to my _brother-in-law_.”

 

Before Connor leaves, he pulls Nines into his arms once more and whispers something to his brother that makes the nonchalant look on his twin’s face waver. If anything, Nines seems to drop his guard again and Gavin’s shocked to see he is squeezing his brother back, a melancholic sadness in his eyes.

 

Gavin presses back into wall and waits until Connor walks by, confident that at least one of the Stern twins hadn’t seen him. He releases the breath he hadn’t been aware he was holding, mind racing with what had just unfolded in front of him. What in the hell could Nines have on Connor to shut him down like that?

 

“Enjoy the show, detective?”

 

Gavin yelps in surprise, not expecting to see Nines leaning confidently against the wall beside him, body turned so he can regard the detective with his cool, calculating eyes. His gaze rakes over the detective and as his nose scrunches in distaste, Gavin self-consciously scratches his own, tries not to color under the scrutiny.

 

“You’ve lost weight,” Nines says, quietly.

 

And all the pretenses are gone, all the walls down. This is Nines, _his_ Nines, who is looking at Gavin with a sadness and concern Gavin knows he doesn’t deserve.

 

“Been busy. Not enough time to eat a good meal these days,” Gavin says, with a small shrug.

 

Complete bullshit. He just hasn’t cared to. He’s always been a shit cook but now, the thought of cooking for himself makes him feel even more miserable, reminds him too much of the presence absent in his kitchen.

 

“You haven’t been sleeping well.”

 

To that, Gavin doesn’t say anything. The nightmares have gotten worse without Nines there, though they are farther in between. Some nights, Gavin can’t be bothered to make it to his bed, the lingering scent of their last time together fading a bit more each day. So he’ll stay up and watch shitty tv shows and wish to fucking God Nines would break in to patronize him or yell at him or even stand there and give him the god damn silent treatment.

 

He doesn’t give a shit in what way Nines is around. He just wants him there.

 

“If you hurry, I am sure you can steal a moment alone with the lieutenant before he finds his husband,” Nines says, with a bitterness that makes the blood in Gavin’s veins turn to ice. “And this time, you will not have to worry about my presence interrupting you.”

 

And there it fucking is.

 

The fight Gavin’s been waiting for.

 

“Babe—”

 

“I have already told you not to call me that. Not when I have heard you say it to _him_ ,” Nines hisses, angrily.

 

“Fine. _Nines_. What you saw—”

 

“I also have no desire to hear any of your excuses. You’ve had an entire month to consider what you would say to me and thus far, it has been to accuse _me_ of leaving _you_ , when I’m the one who caught you with your tongue half way down my brother’s throat!”

 

“We weren’t fucking making out!” Gavin whispers, heatedly. “Jesus fucking Christ, it was barely a kiss. It lasted like a fucking second! I was just trying to—”

 

“Do I look as if I’m in any mood to be lectured on the duration of what occurred or the semantics of what I said?”

 

That manages to silence Gavin, to have the glare slipping from his face as he sees the clear hurt and betrayal on Nines’. Nines is right: no matter what Gavin may say, or how he tries to justify it, Gavin’s still on the defense and he hasn’t even attempted to say he’s sorry or to try and empathize with Nines.

 

“If this is all you have to say to me, I will reiterate what I said earlier: I’ve made my choice. Now, excuse me as I return to _my date._ ”

 

And with a swift turn on his heels, Gavin watches helplessly as Nines makes his exit, as the only thing Gavin should be fighting for is about to walk away from him for good. He’s embarrassed himself enough tonight, failed twice already to say the only words that matter because he’s always too fucking spineless to do the right thing. He can be stubborn and proud and let Nines leave: Gavin’s always valued his pride above all else, even if all it’s ever given him are a broken spirit and a lonely bed.

 

He takes Nines’ wrist as the gangster tries to leave the corridor, tugs to stop his retreat. He’s not surprised when Nines pulls out of his grip angrily, gray eyes flashing in their fury. The gangster’s attention is all on him once more.

 

“I don’t know why you insist on prolonging the inevitable! You are doing neither of us a favor by continuing this argument!”

 

“Maybe I still have shit to say, Nines, and if you would give me two fucking seconds to—!”

 

“To what? Dig a deeper grave for yourself?”

 

“Fuck sakes, Nines, stop interrupting—”

 

“Nothing, and I will say this in as simple a way as your moronic brain can process, there is _nothing_ you can possibly say to me to make me change my—”

 

“Fucking Christ, I’m sorry, alright? I’m fucking _sorry_ and I know I’m the shittiest person alive for what I did!”

 

Nines’ mouth snaps shut, his eyes narrow, and Gavin can see him deliberating silently. The detective’s too afraid to swallow, to breathe, to let himself run his mouth off any more because knowing him, he’ll say the dumbest thing he can think of and somehow make this worse.

 

After a moment, the gangster snaps, “I sincerely hope that is not your idea of an appropriate apology. I was never trying to bully you into saying something you obviously do not mean. We are _done_ , Gavin.”

 

But as he tries to leave again, Gavin crowds in his personal space, preventing Nines from walking by him.

 

“You clearly haven’t listened to a single word I’ve said,” Nines continues. “Why do you keep trying when you know that what we had is _over_?”

 

“Because I’m in fucking love with you, dipshit, and I don’t want this to be over!”

 

His voice cracks with the admission and Gavin’s dropping his eyes to the floor, not wanting to see Nines sneer or mock him for what he’s admitted. In his desperation, he’s said the one thing he never could when they were together, the one thing that’s always sat on the tip of his tongue but failed him in those quiet moments when he _should_ have said them. He has little doubt that it’s too late, that Nines most likely won’t reciprocate. Hell, if the roles were reversed, Gavin knows he wouldn’t give Nines the time of day after having his trust abused like that, even if only over a misunderstanding.

 

Nines shoves Gavin against the wall, presses up against the detective close enough that his exhales fall hot against the detective’s skin. His hands are trembling as they grip Gavin by his jacket and Gavin sees the whirlwind of emotions swimming in the gangster’s eyes, the mistrust that has him glaring with trepidation at the detective.

 

“You do not get to say that to me. Not after...”

 

The gangster swallows to keep his voice from breaking but doesn’t go on, doesn’t trust himself to not shatter if he utters another word. Gavin hates that he made Nines feel this way, that the only reason Nines questions what he’s said is because the gangster doesn’t think he can trust him anymore. Maybe he doesn’t deserve to have Nines’ trust but at the least, he wants Nines to know that he means every word of it.

 

He gently wraps his fingers around Nines’ wrists, feels the gangster’s pulse racing beneath his fingertips. It feels as chaotic as his own.

 

“I love you, Nines,” he whispers, earnestly. Tears well in his eyes and as Nines stares into them, questioningly, Gavin feels one slip off his lashes. “And I am so fucking sorry. You deserve better than this.”

 

Another tear trickles down his cheek. Gavin doesn’t try to hold any of them back, doesn’t want to hide behind his own barriers anymore. He exhales shakily, closes his eyes before the inevitable rejection because he doesn’t know if he will be able to handle the sight of Nines walking away from him for the last time.

 

But it never comes. There are no words of disbelief or disdain, no storming off, nor awkward silences. Instead, he gasps as he feels Nines press their lips together, soft and hesitant. But it takes hardly a moment before whatever’s holding the gangster back crumbles and then he’s uttering a sound, hungrily taking the detective’s lips. His kiss heated and desperate, he cradles Gavin’s face. A dull pang echoes in Gavin’s chest as he feels the harsh scabs in Nines’ palms and he sadly thinks that if only he had been around…

 

Gavin makes a sound of protest when Nines breaks off the kiss. He tries to follow the gangster’s lips, only to be pushed back against the wall, the gangster’s grip not harsh but firm.

 

“We will continue this some place where we have a bit more...privacy,” Nines says, quietly.

 

There’s still hesitation radiating from Nines’ stiff posture. And Gavin knows that for as much as he wants to sweep this under the rug and be given a chance to make it up to Nines, the gangster isn’t quite through with him yet. Fuck, for all he knows, Nines is just looking to relocate their argument some place else where he can shut down Gavin completely without fear of anyone walking in on them.

 

“Sure thing, ba—Nines,” Gavin answers, swallowing thickly. The flicker of disapproval in the gangster’s gaze certainly isn’t making him feel the least bit confident. “My place?”

 

“I was thinking some place where _I_ am more comfortable: my flat.”

 

Gavin looks at Nines in surprise. Truthfully, he was really starting to believe the elusive gangster lived from hotel to hotel, never staying in any place long enough to call it home. In that case, that would mean Nines also spent the last few months living partially in Gavin’s apartment and the discreet invasion bothers Gavin a lot less than he thought it would.

 

But it looks like he’s wrong.

 

“We will continue our argument there.”

 

_Fuck._

 

Gavin’s not out of the frying pan yet. If anything, he’s just hopped out into the fire. And without the advantage of his own space, he has a feeling he’s gonna be in for it.

 

“Y-yeah, okay. Uh...where do you live?”

 

It strikes him as a bit odd that he has to ask the man he loves where he fucking lives. But there’s no question about what he feels, nor even any care for whether or not Nines feels the same. If Nines wants to yell at Gavin some more, Gavin will let the gangster yell until he’s blue in the face and he’ll endure it with all the god damn patience of a fucking saint.

 

Nines tells him the address and no fucking surprise, it’s one of the residential high rises Kamski owns in the ritzier part of downtown Detroit. Most likely registered under the crime lord’s name as well since there is practically no paper trace of ‘Richard Stern’ in this city, the reason the DPD has never figured out where he lives. Richard Stern is a ghost who ‘died’ along with his family’s memory of him and since then, there’s only been ‘Nines’, who lives in Kamski’s shadow.

 

“I intend on leaving immediately. If you wish to draw less suspicion, I highly suggest you return to your coworkers and wait before excusing yourself,” Nines says. He makes to leave and Gavin tries not to let his trepidation or disappointment show at the gangster’s cold exit. “Oh, and detective? Try not to kiss anyone else in my absence.”

 

Ouch.

 

“I expect you at my home within the hour.”

 

Gavin waves a bit awkwardly, waits until he watches Nines depart through the main doors. Though he’s reluctant to head back inside where he knows Connor and Hank are gonna have more than a few questions for him, he trudges back to the Blue Tie Ball. Luckily, it’s Tina who he runs into, still hanging around at the edge of the dance floor, chatting animatedly with Chris.

 

“Gav,” she says, calling him over. She practically throws herself on him and hugs him tightly. “Shit, I was about to text you. The fuck was that all about with Stern?”

 

For a moment, he panics and thinks she saw him and Nines kissing outside of the hall but then he remembers the argument that began on the dance floor.

 

With a forced shrug, he mutters, “Fucked if I know. Asshole thought I was someone else.”

 

“The whole thing was weird. How the hell does he know who I am?” Tina asks, bewildered.

 

_Fucking Christ, Nines. Way to leave a fucking minefield of your reckless shit._

 

Right. He had addressed Tina directly by name and title.

 

“I dunno. Maybe the prick follows the fucking news. Didn’t you and Anderson give statements last week on that B&E op we busted on the west side?”

 

“It was a slow week,” Chris adds. _Thank fucking God._ “Channel 16 must have run that segment at least 10 times during our shift.”

 

“Congrats, Chen: you’re a fucking star. Now every scumbag south of Eight Mile will ask for your autograph when we arrest them.”

 

“Bite me, Reed.”

 

The three friends joke a little longer and Gavin heads with them to the bar for last drink, non-alcoholic in his case, for the road. His buzz is long gone but at least he can kill some time before he steels himself for part 3 and the epic conclusion of his fight with Nines.

 

As he steps outside into the late August evening, he decides to pull out his cigarettes for a quick smoke. The menthol burns smooth down his throat and he tries not to let his mind wander to the many possible outcomes that await him, watches anxiously as tendrils of smoke curl out from his lips.

 

Halfway through his cigarette, he’s joined by someone completely unexpected.

 

“Hey, you were the one Nines was dancing with earlier,” the attractive blond says. It almost pisses Gavin off that the man’s even better looking up close.

 

Fuck...Nines hasn’t slept with him, has he?

 

_Get a fucking grip, Reed._

 

He doesn’t need that on his mind as he makes his way to the gangster’s.

 

Realizing he still hasn’t said anything, Gavin grunts. “Yeah, and?”

 

“Do you know where he is?”

 

“No fucking idea, blondie.”

 

He tosses his cigarette to the ground, stubs it out with his foot. He almost smirks as he notices a bewildered look on Daniel’s face and part of him wishes he can rub it in, wishes he can assuage his jealousy by letting the asshole know that Nines made his choice earlier and it wasn’t that doe eyed prick.

 

But Gavin’s got enough class to resist the urge to even flip the fucker off. He’s got better things to do, better places to be.

 

And maybe, if he plays his cards right—in other words, keep his fool mouth shut when it matters most—he’ll make it through whatever tongue lashing Nines has ready for him.

 

But given his track record, Gavin’s not the most optimistic about his chances as he starts his car.

 


	2. Nothing To Lose

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nines invites Gavin back to his place and a fight ensues.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you everyone for your thoughtful comments on the previous chapter! As promised, here is the next chapter, posted within the expected update time. Chapter 3 *might* take a bit longer since I am out of the country for the next week. I have mostly edited it but I will need to check over it again once I get back. If there were more hours in the day, I would have it done by now but, unfortunately, there's a lot I need to do at work before I start my vacation.
> 
> Special thanks always to [NixObscura](https://archiveofourown.org/users/NixObscura/pseuds/NixObscura) for being patient enough to put up with my garbage and letting me throw ideas off of her. This chapter in particular could have gone in two completely different directions and I think the one she liked most (which is what I ended up writing) works the best. So hopefully all of you will enjoy it too!
> 
> Tags are being updated as the story is updated. So please check before reading to make sure there's nothing that will upset you. 
> 
> Enjoy :)

The drive to central Detroit, in an upscale district that sits on the periphery of the financial quarter, seems to take forever. More than once, Gavin finds he is tapping his fingers impatiently on the wheel, cussing loudly, and flipping off an automated vehicle as he edged too close and its delayed reaction time nearly resulted in an accident. Yeah, he’s definitely at fucking fault but this high strung and eager to make it to Nines’ place, he really doesn’t have the patience to deal with lazy ‘drivers’ and their machines. Fucking automatons have no business being on the roads.

 

He arrives an hour after leaving the ball, waves off the valet and makes for one of the guest parking spots. Of fucking course the prissy ass high rise has valet parking. And probably some asshole concierge who will wrinkle his nose at Gavin’s attire and ‘reluctantly’ let him in. Shit never is that simple with Nines.

 

He breathes out shakily, fidgets nervously, and then shuts off his car. He checks himself in the mirror, not surprised to see his hair and clothes have gotten more disheveled since the start of the evening. The one time the universe could cut him a fucking break, give him at least something to ease his nerves and it fucking doesn’t. He thinks of Daniel back at the ball and wonders why in the fuck Nines would throw his lot in with Gavin’s foul-mouthed, twin-kissing ass, when he has _that_ waiting for him to pounce on.

 

 _Gotta_ _make this shit count,_ Gavin thinks, and takes his ‘peace offering’, which sits on the passenger seat. He pockets the small case, still hesitant how Nines will take it. A growing voice of doubt tells his it’s a stupid gift, that the second Nines sees it, the gangster will turn his nose at it and refuse it. But Gavin wants to show Nines how serious he is about keeping the gangster in his life and is willing to risk humiliation to prove that point.

 

As expected, Gavin’s received coldly in the lobby and half expects to be thrown out on his ass. But once giving his name and showing his ID (“For security purposes” _bull fucking shit_ ), the concierge nods stiffly and allows him access to the private elevator leading up to the highest suites. It’s almost dizzying how far up he has to go and once he steps into the hallway, surrounded on either side by tasteful décor that’s as pretentious as it is nominal in its decadence, he can’t help but bitterly think _Crime fucking pays._

 

There are only three suites on this floor. Gavin heads towards the one directly in front of him, at the end of the short hallway. He unconsciously toys with the case in his pocket, licks his dry lips as he stands in front of the door. He was so impatient to get here and now that he’s arrived, he’s nervous as shit for what awaits him. Swallowing the early stirrings of his panic, he raps loudly on the door.

 

He waits. As the seconds tick by, he shuffles his weight between his feet. When there’s no answer, he lifts his hand again, startles as his pocket vibrates. He pulls out his phone to see who in the hell is messaging him.

 

[Unknown Sender Aug 13 11:04 PM]

_It’s unlocked._

 

Gavin’s a lot more surprised than he should be that Nines, presumably, has his number. The burner phone’s still sitting under his pillow back at home.

 

He steps inside, idles momentarily to take in the sight of the suite. It’s more or less what he’s come to expect: floors and surfaces so pristine, there’s almost a cold detachment to them, as if the place is not lived in. Large glass windows line the outer walls of the suite, presenting a clear view of the Detroit skyline. The apartment is sparsely furnished, with dark oak surfaces and black leather seating, and a few accents that are more pleasing to the suite’s aesthetic than a touch of personalization. Gavin notes a bookshelf situated not far from the staircase leading up to the loft but part of him wonders if its not also décor for the sake of it.

 

No wonder Nines never invited him here before: the place is about as homely as a morgue.

 

Walking further inside, his cautious frown lifts when he sees Nines leaning over the island separating the kitchen from the living area. Glass of red wine in hand, the gangster takes a generous sip from it and Gavin’s watching the bob of his pale throat, want and longing making his pulse thrum. When Nines sets the glass down, his cool gaze falls to the detective rooted in the middle of the room and there’s an iciness to that look that makes Gavin want to shiver.

 

With sinking dread, he realizes that he’s walked right back into that fight they left off nearly two hours before.

 

“You came,” Nines says, his tone clipped. There’s something not quite right about it. “I was beginning to suspect you had stood me up.”

 

He takes the bottle of cabernet sauvignon and pours the rest of its contents into his glass. It barely makes a serving. And that’s when Gavin figures out what’s so off about Nines: his rolled up sleeves and loosened tie might give all the appearance of ‘unwinding’ but there’s something uncharacteristically disheveled about his appearance, sweat dotting his hair line, words not uttered distinctly but the syllables blurring together.

 

Shit. Nines is drunk.

 

Gavin’s about to ask if everything’s alright but realizes it’s a really stupid question.

 

“You, uh, drink all that yourself?”

 

Nines glares.

 

Yeah. That’s also a stupid question.

 

Fuck.

 

“When I said ‘within the hour’, I had thought I made myself clear. Evidently, whatever distractions you found after I left must have been _that_ intriguing.”

 

Hitting the right nerve, Gavin’s about to retort something equally acerbic about Daniel when he notes the hurt in Nines’ expression, before the gangster’s lip curl into a scowl.

 

Fuck. Nines had really thought Gavin had changed his mind. Enough that he had gone through an entire bottle of wine while he waited for Gavin’s flaky ass.

 

“I, uh, had to stop off somewhere,” Gavin mumbles, his excuse sounding pathetic to his ears. He now feels what he had hoped to give to Nines is a wasted effort: how can he expect the gangster to accept it when Nines is this hurt, this drunk, and this angry at him?

 

So he abandons all thoughts of the case he’s carrying, hesitantly steps toward the island. He makes it not even two steps before the angry look on the gangster’s face has him freezing.

 

“And that is the best you can come up with? You had to ‘stop off somewhere’? I waited two hours for you!”

 

The gangster sways, catches himself on the edge of the counter. He seems more concerned about saving his glass of wine than his well-being. Gavin wants to be at Nines’ side to catch him so he doesn’t split his head open but the dangerous warning in the gangster’s eyes keeps the detective back.

 

“You said to not make it obvious,” Gavin answers. “Fuck, Nines, I wasn’t trying to piss you off.”

 

“That would be a first.”

 

“Can we not do this? If you’re gonna be pissed, be pissed about that shit I did with Connor, not how fucking long it took me to get here.”

 

Mouth, meet foot.

 

At the mention of the very thing that broke them up, Nines’ dark look goes from irate to vicious. He tosses back the rest of the wine, dark red droplets spilling down the sides of his lips. Swiping the back of his hand across his chin, he throws the wine glass in the sink, shattering it loudly. Gavin tries not to but can’t help but flinch as he hears the cracking of glass.

 

“You want to discuss the scene I walked in on last month? Alright, Gavin, humor me: what in the hell were you thinking?!”

 

“You mean besides, ‘Holy shit, what the fuck is Con doing here?!’ and ‘Holy shit, why the fuck is Nines early?!’? Christ, Nines, I fucking panicked, alright!”

 

“You expect me to believe that you ‘panicked’ and your first thought was to kiss **my brother**?!” Nines snaps.

 

And yeah, saying it out loud makes it sound even dumber than when it was happening.

 

“I was trying to fucking distract him, alright! How in the fuck was I supposed to explain that you happened to be in the same fucking place as my date?!”

 

“And you expect me to believe that it was simply a moment of poor judgment and not that I was walking in on something I wasn’t supposed to see?!”

 

“Why in the fuck would I have Connor meet me there 30 minutes before you’re supposed to show up if I was fucking him behind your back? Fucking Christ, if I was that much of a scumbag, I’d like to think I’d at least have my shit in order!”

 

“Your lack of intellect is something that has never escaped my notice.”

 

“Yeah, yeah, I get it: I’m a fucking idiot!” Gavin says, angrily. “But fuck sakes, you know I’m no fucking cheater! When have I ever made you think I wanted to get back with Connor?!”

 

“The warehouse.”

 

Gavin stutters on his retort, not expecting any reply to be given. The resolute way in which it’s uttered, the hurt and ire in Nines’ gaze, makes guilt fester in Gavin’s chest. “Wh-what?”

 

The hand on the counter keeping Nines’ balance in check curls into a first. And Gavin knows those carefully manicured nails are digging and digging, pressing until an edge can crack skin. “Do not pretend that your initial attraction to me had anything to do with who I am when it has everything to do with _who_ _m_ I look like.”

 

Gavin wants to tell Nines he is wrong but deep down, he knows the opposite to be the truth. And as he struggles to answer, words failing to make it past the thick lump in his throat, he sees the effect his silence has on Nines as a multitude of emotions pass over the gangster’s face.

 

“It’s always _Connor,_ ” Nines says, words slurring in a miserable hitch. “Everyone always wants fucking _Connor._ And when they can’t have him, I’m their consolation prize.”

 

“Nines, you’re not—”

 

“Do you know the only reason I was ever adopted was because the orphanage refused to separate us?” Nines cuts in. His voice drips with contempt as his lips curl in a twisted snarl, “Amanda wanted perfect, precious Connor and had no choice but to take me as well. Growing up, I was always a problem that needed correcting and when I failed to meet Amanda’s expectations, she found the first excuse to get rid of me. What use had she for a disappointment when she already had the only son she wanted?”

 

He slumps against the counter, face turned away from the detective. Gavin enters into the kitchen, lingers close but doesn’t make an effort to touch Nines. Seeing the gangster this distraught, this broken, over a past he has always been so reluctant to discuss makes Gavin wish he could take him into his arms, reassure him that he’s never been a consolation prize. But he’s uncertain if his touch would even be welcome.

 

“I’ve met Amanda and yeah, can’t say I’m a fan,” Gavin says. Growing up in foster care, moving from household to household, Gavin knows quite viscerally how difficult it is to meet the expectations of parents like Amanda, had dealt with his share of Mrs. Sterns. “But don’t let assholes like her make you think you’re not good enough.”

 

“Are you certain you don’t mean assholes like _you_? My mother is not the only one who has made her preference clear.”

 

“I don’t want Connor, Nines, I want _you_.”

 

His voice cracks, thick with all the desperation and longing that’s brought him back to that point of misery Connor left him at two years ago.

 

“You have an incredibly poor way of showing it.”

 

“Fuck, what’s it going to take to make you fucking believe me?”

 

Nines’ gaze is cold as he quietly regards the detective. There was something almost cruel in his expression as he says, in a calm but demanding voice, “On your knees.”

 

It takes Gavin by surprise, who’s not quite sure if Nines expects him to beg or is looking for something more. In either case, he has little objection: he’ll let his pride take a hit if that’s the proof Nines needs that Gavin wants only him.

 

He drops to his knees, stares up expectantly at the gangster. Color creeps into his cheeks as he’s quickly becoming aware of how humiliating this is, even though it’s not as if he’s never dropped to his knees on command for Nines before. But those times were different, both of them caught up in the heat of desire and Gavin quite willing to see that need met by his tongue.

 

“So, what? This the part where I beg for you to take me back?” Gavin asks, with a hint of petulance in his voice. He needs to save face somehow.

 

“Suck my cock.”

 

Gavin shivers at the cool delivery of the demand, blood pooling below his waist to stir his cock awake. He would love if it was that easy, if all he has to do is take the gangster in hand, run his tongue over the beading tip of his enormous dick, and suck him off until he’s greedily swallowing the essence of Nines’ ‘forgiveness’. An apology where he’s using his mouth but not for the words he should be saying seems like an easy way out, one Gavin will gladly take.

 

But there’s also something noticeably different about the change in Nines’ demeanor, something that doesn’t sit well with Gavin. The forced detachment and sudden sharpness in his calculating gaze makes it seem that Nines is far less interested in gaining any sort of pleasure from the act but is trying to prove a point. There’s a wrongness to this that’s sending warning bells off in Gavin’s head but in truth, he’s not above doing what Nines has asked, would do so eagerly if there wasn’t this confusion and tension between them.

 

“Yeah, sure,” Gavin says, reaching to unzip Nines’ pants, “whatever you want.”

 

But the detective doesn’t get much farther than that before a bruising grip is stopping him, grasping his wrist tightly. “Stop.”

 

The command is said shakily and as Gavin’s gaze flits up in confusion, he’s shocked to see tears welling in those pale, gray eyes. “Nines?”

 

“I—I can’t—”

 

Gavin’s rising to his feet before the first tear spills, pulling Nines tightly into his arms. There’s a soft sound, a broken gasp, before Gavin feels the gangster’s shoulders begin to shake, face hidden in the crook of the detective’s neck. A wetness seeps into the collar of Gavin’s shirt and it has him holding the gangster more firmly against him as Nines silently cries. Though Gavin’s more confused than ever, he hates seeing Nines like this, chest aching as he reminds himself, for not the first time this evening, that it wouldn’t be like this between them if he hadn’t fucked up.

 

“Nines, baby,” he’s not sure if _Baby_ ’s also off limits but it just comes out, “it’s not like I don’t want to. Fuck, you know me: my dirty ass is always down for a bit of D&S. I don’t care whatever humiliating shit you want me to do; I’ll fucking do it.”

 

He rubs his hands down Nines’ trembling back

 

“I’ll do anything, Nines. Fucking anything. I just...I want you back.”

 

Nines lifts his head, sways as he shifts his balance, red-rimmed eyes staring sadly at the detective. Gavin’s own vision begins to blur as he swipes away one of the wet trails that’s tracked down the gangster’s pale cheeks. His eyes flutter closed and he leans into the detective’s touch, his exhale a shaky whisper that presses to Gavin’s skin.

 

“You shouldn’t give yourself away so lightly, Gavin.”

 

If Gavin didn’t know better, he would almost think the gangster was saying that in warning.

 

“You’re worth it, Nines,” Gavin says, voice thick. “I’m the one who fucked up. I should’ve just let Connor figure it out, deal with him instead of making you feel like I don’t give a shit about us. I don’t expect you to trust me—fuck, or even forgive me right away. But if you give me another chance, I fucking swear I’ll do anything you need to make things right.”

 

Nines’ eyes flutter open and there’s a softness to his expression that makes Gavin’s chest constrict. The detective keeps a firm hand on the gangster as Nines struggles unsteadily on his feet. “Gavin, I—”

 

His voice hitches, a nauseous look passing over his face. Gavin has little warning before Nines is breaking away, throwing himself at the sink. Hands gripping the sink’s edge, Nines vomits loud enough that it has Gavin wincing. But the detective is there not moments after the gangster starts, rubbing Nines’ back, ignoring the thick stench of vinegar and bile.

 

As Nines empties the contents of his stomach, Gavin runs the water, careful to shift the faucet away. He uses his free hand to grab one of Nines’ hand towels and dampens the end of it.

 

Groaning miserably, Nines rests his head on the counter.

 

“Hey, babe,” Gavin starts, rubbing soothing circles in the middle of the gangster’s back, “c’mon. Let’s get you cleaned up.”

 

Nines mumbles something, attempts to lift himself up, and then drops his head back down with a groan. Sliding an arm around his waist, Gavin eases the gangster into his arms, grunts when he throws all his weight on the detective. Using the damp towel, he wipes away the remnants of vomit on the gangster’s lips and chin.

 

A hint of color splashes across Nines’ cheeks and he hides his face in Gavin’s shirt.

 

“This is humiliating,” the gangster complains.

 

Gavin’s chuckle earns him a sharp pinch from Nines. “Guessing you normally don’t get this drunk, princess.”

 

“Call me _that_ again and I will end you, Gavin.”

 

“Says the asshole who can’t even walk straight.”

 

Nines says something, most likely a threat, that ends up muffled in Gavin’s shirt.

 

Tossing the washcloth on the counter, Gavin re-positions them to make it easier to direct Nines towards the bathroom. As he leads them out of the kitchen, he glances around but the only other rooms he sees are a study and a laundry room on the lower floor.

 

“Hey, where’s your bathroom?”

 

“Upstairs.”

 

“Of fucking course it is,” Gavin sighs.

 

Well, they were gonna have to make the trip up sooner or later, since Nines’ bed is also up there. May as well be sooner.

 

The climb up the stairs is one Gavin hopes he will not have to relive in the near future. The only way to keep Nines from pitching forward or stumbling back is for Gavin to practically carry the drunken gangster up the floating staircase, made more difficult with the lack of a handrail. By the time they make it into the loft, Gavin’s sweating profusely and he swears his back is about to to give.

 

“Fucking Christ, Nines, how much you been lifting?”

 

“If you maintained an appropriate diet along with regular exercise, you would not over exert yourself climbing up a flight of stairs.”

 

“Thanks for the advice, Dr. Oz. Doesn’t answer my fucking question.”

 

Nines rolls his eyes.

 

Once they’re in the bathroom, Gavin leaves Nines resting against the wall and begins going through the gangster’s medicine cabinet. He pulls out mouthwash and a bottle of aspirin, sets aside the latter to try and find something the gangster can drink from. Swallowing a groan, he realizes he’s gonna have to go back downstairs.

 

“You good to brush your teeth?”

 

Nines tries to move towards the sink and nearly trips. Gavin helps him for the remaining steps.

 

“Yeah so your basic coordination’s fucked. How about you just rinse your mouth out with this?”

 

Gavin pours some of the mouthwash into the mini cup and hands it to Nines. Though Nines makes a face, he accepts it, leans more on Gavin as he throws back his head, gargles, and spits out the mint blue liquid. Gavin runs the water to rid the sink of the remnants of it.

 

“Let’s get you to bed.”

 

“I am not some child in need of coddling.”

 

“Bitch all you want but unless you plan on crawling back to your room, me dragging your drunk ass back there is happening.”

 

That momentarily silences Nines who scowls but allows himself to be led back to the bedroom. Though the room is dark, the light streaming up from the living space makes it easy for Gavin to navigate, not that Nines has much in his room. Besides a walk-in closet, suits and shoes carefully organized in that clinical way that he’s come to associate with the other man, there’s a vanity and a king sized bed, bedside tables of dark oak on either side. The only piece of décor is a large, abstract painting Gavin recognizes as a work by Markus Manfred, one of Detroit’s most famous artists who’s slowly climbed to his father’s fame in the last few years.

 

Sitting Nines at the edge of the bed, Gavin glances once more at that painting and whistles. “Shit, is that an original? Must’ve cost you a fortune.”

 

“It was a gift,” Nines says, absently.

 

Gavin notes the gangster’s sudden discomfort. He knows shit about art anyway, not the least bit interested in it. The only reason he’s familiar with Markus’ work is because him and Con are old friends from high school and Connor managed to drag Gavin out to a Manfred exhibition once. Gavin had hated it, especially seeing the way Markus lit up when around Connor and while Con had brushed it off as a decade-old crush, it annoyed the shit out of Gavin and...oh.

 

“ _Everyone always wants fucking_ Connor _.”_

 

No wonder the gangster’s awkwardly quiet. Gavin, wisely, decides to not press.

 

He sees Nines struggling with the buttons of his shirt, unsteady fingers slipping each time he tries to push it out of the hole. Feeling a blush creep across his cheeks, Gavin moves Nines’ fingers out of the way and does it for him. “Here, let me get that.”

 

Even in the darkness of the room, Gavin can make out the dots marking Nines’ pale flesh, the protrusion of his collar bone, milky white skin that stretches over firm muscle. His mouth becomes dry and he wets his lips self consciously, tries to focus on his task. It’s made all the more difficult as he feels Nines’ curious eyes on him.

 

“Undressing me? Detective, you haven’t even bought me dinner yet.”

 

“Yeah, yeah, laugh it the fuck up,” Gavin mumbles, the tips of his ears burning. “You were always bitching about me ripping the buttons off your shirts. Thought you’d need some help with these.”

 

“My shirt thanks you for your thoughtfulness.”

 

Gavin snorts but is almost happy when the last button is undone, looks away hastily as Nines removes his shirt and tie. He doesn’t want to see that bare chest as even the hint of flesh has left his fingertips tingling with the urge to trace familiar paths across those hard abs.

 

“You, uh, can take it from here, yeah?”

 

Nines answers, dryly, “If I need assistance in the removal of my pants, you will be the first person I inform.”

 

“Yeah, um, I’m just gonna, uh...”

 

He nearly trips down the top step in his haste to get away.

 

Once downstairs, he takes a long, deep breath, trying to calm the erratic pounding in his chest. Being up there with Nines, it would be so easy for Gavin to let one thing lead to another, let their banter become more flirtatious until he’s falling between the gangster’s thighs and kissing the skin at his throat. But Nines is _drunk_ , and even outside of the consent issue, the gangster’s emotional state is one that Gavin refuses to take advantage of.

 

No, if Nines is gonna take Gavin back, he wants the gangster to do it with a clear head and not out of the emotional desperation that resulted from his drinking.

 

Entering the kitchen once more, Gavin cleans away the last of the vomit in the sink, picks out the pieces of broken wine glass, and tosses them into the trash. As he tidies up a bit, he is surprised to find that, unlike the rest of the apartment, there are little personal touches here and there: from slightly worn oven mitts, to the plethora of spices lining the racks, a variety of cooking oils and wines set near the stove. This kitchen feels very much like a space that’s been used and is so very much _Nines,_ it makes Gavin’s expression soften.

 

Cleaning off his hands, he fills a glass with water and heads back up to the loft. He blushes deeply as he sees Nines sitting, head in his hands, in only his black boxer-briefs. The gangster has barely moved from where Gavin left him.

 

He hands the glass of water to Nines and sets aside the aspirin he had pocketed on the bedside table. “Drink this. And don’t forget to take one of these when you get up.”

 

Nines finishes off half the glass and hands it to Gavin, who places it beside the bottle of pills. Pulling back the top sheets, Gavin motions for Nines to lay back, helps him get settled in. It’s strange taking care of him in this way as Gavin’s become more used to cleaning off blood or helping the gangster patch up. Never had he imagined Nines would let his control slip to the point of getting completely hammered.

 

“Gavin,” Nines says, gently grasping the detective’s wrist. His touch feels warm on Gavin’s skin. “We were discussing something.”

 

“It can wait till you’re feeling better.”

 

Without the advantage of his full faculties, Nines is an open book. There’s disappointment in his eyes but he doesn’t say anything else.

 

“Get some sleep.”

 

Gavin makes to leave but Nines hasn’t let go of his wrist. Nor does he try to.

 

“Stay.”

 

He’s not sure if Nines means in his bed or in his presence. Gavin absolutely refuses to do the first since if this is simply a lapse in judgment, he doesn’t want Nines getting angry about it in the morning. So he sits on the edge of the bed and reaches out, with trepidation, to gently swipe aside Nines’ sweaty bangs.

 

“Yeah, okay.”

 

Nines’ eyes flutter closed at the gesture. And it’s not long before his chest begins to rise and fall in an even pattern, the grip on Gavin’s wrist loosening. Gavin watches him in silence, the hard angles of the gangster’s face appearing that much softer in the vestiges of sleep. There’s something peaceful about him that seems almost antagonistic of the cruelty and violence Gavin knows he’s capable of.

 

He waits some time until he’s satisfied Nines is asleep, the ache in his chest growing the longer he stays at the gangster’s side. He wonders if Nines will be as willing to revisit Gavin’s promise to make things work once the influence of alcohol is no longer in his system.

 

Making his way downstairs, Gavin debates driving home or staying the night. The emotional exhaustion from the last few hours wears on him and never has a sofa looked more inviting. However, if Nines is feeling less forgiving when he wakes up, Gavin’s not sure if he can handle yet another round of arguments so soon. Maybe leaving and giving the gangster a day to think things over would be best for both of them.

 

As he goes towards the door, Gavin yawns and blearily rubs his eyes. Fuck it. He’s way too tired to be operating a vehicle. And no, that does not mean Gavin’s about to swallow his pride and regret not owning a fucking SWISH. Those automated vehicles are death traps waiting to be hacked.

 

He takes out the items in his pockets, sets his phone, lighter, cigarettes, wallet, and the small, leather case on the table. Toeing off his shoes, he removes his suit jacket and lays back on the couch, throwing the jacket over him as a makeshift blanket. Despite a month of struggling for sleep to come to him, his eyes slip shut and he drifts off almost as soon as his head hits the cushion.

 

* * *

 

The wind whips his hair, nipping at his exposed skin. He dangles his feet but kicks only at air, the one thing keeping him from plummeting to his death the firm hand gripping his wrist. Wide-eyed, his gaze darts down and he’s swallowing a scream: an endless, dark chasm with no bottom in sight.

 

Cruel, cold laughter carries above the wind and Gavin’s staring straight into the disfigured face of his captor. Where one of his eyes has been removed, tiny worms crawl through the rotted flesh surrounding the orifice. Most of his nose has been cut away, along with both of his ears and Murphy’s voice gargles due to the deep, red slit in his throat. Terror flows like ice in Gavin’s veins, the walking corpse come back to finish what he started. And this time, there is no Nines to save him.

 

“You fucking idiot,” Murphy cackles, maggots crawling from the spaces where his teeth have been removed, slinking down his chin. “You pigs are too damn stupid to see what’s in front of you.”

 

Gavin shudders as slimy maggots wiggle from the rotted flesh of Murphy’s hand, slowly make their way beneath the cuff of his leather coat. He resists the panic that has him wanting to squirm out of Murphy’s grip, enduring the sick sensation of the small creepers inching across his skin.

 

 _Please, please stop,_ he silently begs, eyes slipping shut as he feels them water. _Don’t let me go don’t let me go don’t let me go—_

 

“Too stupid...to see what’s there...”

 

And when Gavin opens his eyes, he’s crying out in shock: gray eyes regard him with detachment, the rotted flesh of Murphy’s hand replaced with long, pale fingers whose touch Gavin’s often succumbed to. No longer is the walking corpse of the arms dealer dangling him from that rooftop: now, it’s the last man Gavin would ever expect.

 

“Nines,” Gavin gasps out, a silent plea in his voice.

 

The cold expression on the gangster’s face remains unchanged.

 

“You know what you must do,” a voice whispers into the gangster’s ear. Gavin’s heart sinks in his chest as he sees the cruel smirk on Kamski’s lips. His thumb caresses the line of Nines’ jaw and he tilts the gangster’s face towards him, the crime lord’s lips ghosting against his. “Drop him.”

 

The grip on Gavin’s wrist begins to loosen.

 

“N-no, babe! Please—don’t do this!”

 

Nines stares coldly at the detective. “I am sorry, detective.”

 

He lets go.

 

And Gavin’s falling, winds carrying his screams as the air rushes past him, hands grasping for anything to stop his endless plummet. All the while, those haunting, gray eyes watch and Nines’ lips slowly twist into a cruel smile.

 

Gavin startles awake, rolling off the couch with a scream. His flailing hands grasp the first thing they catch and he’s surprised to feel a pair of arms wrap around him, buries his sweating face into a firm, bare chest. He’s shaking, panic threatening to spill over into full blown hysteria, and even as the remnants of whatever he had dreamed slips from memory, he’s unable to bury the lingering fear from whatever fucked up images had tormented his sleep.

 

Gasping and whimpering, he barely hears the soothing voice above his own cries. “Darling...darling, I’m here.”

 

It only has him holding tighter onto the person embracing him, the rapid pounding of his own heart a deafening sound in his own head.

 

“Gavin...it’s okay,” the voice says again and though something about it sets off a warning, Gavin ignores it, is calmed by its warmth and familiarity. “I’ve got you.”

 

Resting his chin on Nines’ shoulder, Gavin releases a shuddering exhale. His panic begins to subside and he slowly feels his pulse return to normal. It’s some time that he allows Nines to comfort him, his arms a protective shield against whatever horrors his head wishes to subject him to. The tender words Nines whispers don’t have to mean anything: merely the sound of his voice is enough to chase Gavin’s demons.

 

“Nines,” Gavin says, hoarsely. It takes him a long moment to figure out why this strikes him as strange, being in the gangster’s arms. And when it finally hits him, Gavin’s disentangling himself, face flaming hotter than the mid-summer sun.

 

Right. They’re not together. Not anymore.

 

“F-fuck, I—shit, I didn’t mean to—”

 

He sits back on the couch, Nines seated in front of him on the edge of the coffee table. Seeing Nines in only his underwear makes Gavin feel that much more awkward and he self-consciously scratches at his nose.

 

“It’s perfectly fine, Gavin,” Nines says, when Gavin stutters and tries to make an apology. “You were having a bad dream.”

 

Gavin groans and finds he’s too embarrassed to meet the gangster’s eyes. The apartment is dark, the only light from the low-hanging moon streaming through the large, glass windows. It bathes both of them in its glow.

 

“Shit, what time is it?”

 

Gavin takes his phone and checks: 3:27 AM.

 

“Fuck, did I wake you?”

 

“I am a light sleeper. A number of things could have awoken me.”

 

Yeah, but Gavin doubts that there’s anything else in this place quite as disruptive as a grown man crying out like a fucking child in his sleep. It makes him wish the expensive leather he’s sitting on would swallow him whole and save him from this conversation.

 

“I thought I was done with this shit,” Gavin says. “Fuck, Nines, I’m really so—”

 

“There is no need to apologize,” he interrupts. “Though, I am curious as to how you ended up on my couch.”

 

So the invitation to stay over had only been spur of the moment in his drunken state, something that Nines must have forgotten. Disappointment wells in Gavin’s chest and he’s looking down at the phone in his hand, blush creeping down his neck. “I, uh, got tired. Didn’t wanna risk being behind the wheel. Give me a minute and I can, um—”

 

“You misunderstand me,” Nines says, tilting Gavin’s face so that the detective could look him in the eyes. There’s so much warmth and sadness in them, it makes that ache inside of him fester with the twinges of regret. “It would be a lot easier to comfort you had you remained upstairs.”

 

“You were drunk,” Gavin answers. “I...didn’t think you’d wanna deal with...you know...”

 

With a frown, Nines’ hand drops away. He places both of them on his knees, his posture stiff and straight. Yet there are conflicting emotions passing over his face and he slips into silence.

 

The conversation they never finished earlier looms over them, making the silence they once found comforting too stifling to endure. Gavin’s still trapped in the same indecision from before he passed out: should he leave and come back another time, when both of them are in a better head space to tackle the question of what they are? Or bite the bullet and have that conversation now?

 

He glances awkwardly at Nines, sees the same indecision in those gray eyes.

 

And Gavin decides they may as well get this over with.

 

“So...what’re we gonna do?”

 

“Would you be opposed to joining me upstairs and saving this conversation for another time?”

 

Gavin startles.

 

That was always his and Connor’s excuse: fuck and tackle the massive problems between them later. Yet later never came. Gavin was too much of a chicken shit to bring it up and Connor knew that there was irreparable damage with no clear solution. So they didn’t talk about it and allowed their relationship to wear at the seams until they were so threadbare, they had come undone.

 

“Nines,” Gavin says, gently placing one hand over the gangster’s. He gazes sadly into his ex’s eyes. “If I go up there with you, we both know what’s gonna happen. I can’t do that shit anymore. I hate to be a dick about it, but...if you don’t think you can forgive me, then maybe coming here’s a mistake.”

 

It’s everything he doesn’t want and it’s difficult to ignore that voice telling him to take what he can get. But Gavin’s felt like absolute shit in the one month since they separated. And he knows that if they go into this with baggage and trust issues, it will hurt even fucking worse when it explodes in his face later.

 

Nines is quiet as he considers Gavin’s words. Each second has the detective’s heart sinking further, cold dread making Gavin only more certain that this is it. He wants to be angry but the only person he can be angry with is himself.

 

“While I am of the opinion that you exercised incredibly poor judgment with no ill intent,” Nines finally says, “I...am uncertain if I would trust you to not do such a thing again. Given your history with my brother, it’s...difficult to look past this.”

 

With a sad nod, Gavin releases Nines’ hand. Yet his fingers have barely left Nines’ skin before the gangster’s grasping the detective’s hand, intertwining their fingers. There’s a longing in Nines’ eyes that leaves Gavin’s chest fluttering with hope and Nines squeezes his hand. “But that doesn’t mean I am not willing to give you another chance. So, in answer to your question: yes, Gavin, I forgive you for being an idiot.”

 

Feeling emboldened, Gavin tugs Nines forward, who easily slides onto his lap, straddling him. There’s something almost shy about the gangster’s melancholic smile but he eagerly closes the distance, pressing his lips softly against Gavin’s. The moment their lips touch, Gavin groans, the hand not holding Nines’ sliding up the gangster’s back. Every inch of skin he’s been denied trembles beneath his touch and Gavin takes his time in reacquainting himself with the expanse of Nines’ back, the tips of his fingers tracing the distance between moles he knows are there, old scars he’s kissed many times over. Against his lips, Nines gasps softly.

 

“I’ve missed you,” Gavin admits and it hurts to have to say those words because it means they’ve been without each other long enough for it to mean everything. “Fuck, Nines—I don’t even know how I can begin to make it up to you.”

 

Nines presses a chaste kiss to Gavin’s lips, his answer a sultry whisper, “You may start by coming to bed with me.”

 

Nines’ lips find Gavin’s neck, begin to nip and tug at olive flesh. The detective’s cock is already stirring, filling to press against Nines’ thigh. That Nines is in his lap, practically naked, certainly isn’t helping Gavin tame his excitement.

 

“You sure you want that?”

 

While Nines is definitely sober, Gavin doesn’t want them to do something either of them will regret when the vulnerability of the moment passes.

 

“Yes, Gavin,” Nines whispers, finding the detective’s mouth once more. He kisses him deeply, hungrily, grinds down so Gavin knows just how much he means that. “We have a month to catch up on.”

 

Gavin smirk is wolfish, though his touch is tender as he cradles Nines’ cheek. “Then let's get started.”

 

He has to bite back a moan when Nines stands up, his eyes lingering on the large bulge tenting the gangster’s boxers. His mind is already filling the blanks of how Nines will take him, how good it will feel to be filled by the gangster, bent and fucked until Gavin forgets the misery of these last four weeks, as if it was only a bad dream.

 

He lets Nines pull him to his feet, though instead of leading him upstairs, Nines simply holds him, his arms embracing Gavin tightly. A soft sigh leaves the gangster’s lips as Gavin squeezes him back.

 

“I have missed you, too, Gavin,” Nines whispers, voice wavering with emotion. “More than I should be willing to admit.”

 

It leaves a thick lump sitting in the detective’s throat, words failing him. So he simply stays there and even if this is how their evening ends, with Nines holding him, Gavin would not be disappointed: he will do whatever Nines needs, move at whatever pace the gangster sets, until he removes the last of his doubts.

 

“There is one thing you may explain to me before we take this up stairs,” Nines says, his voice breaking the silence they have slipped into. “What is this?”

 

He holds a small, leather case between them, the one Gavin had set aside earlier. Immediately, Gavin flushes and part of him wonders when in the fuck Nines picked it off the table, though given the gangster’s sleight of hand—and how thoroughly distracting he is—it’s also a lot less surprising it escaped Gavin’s notice.

 

“It’s...really stupid,” Gavin says, sheepishly. “I was gonna give it to you earlier, but...”

 

His eyes flit down to Nines’ chest as the gangster opens the case, bracing himself for whatever underwhelmed reaction or gentle mockery Nines is about to deliver. Gavin’s always been shit with gifts, his mind always drawing a blank the few times a year he can be bothered to head to the mall for birthday or Christmas shopping. Likewise, he expects this one will also be a big miss.

 

“Gavin...”

 

There’s a tremor in Nines’ voice.

 

Self-consciously, Gavin glances up into the gangster’s face. He’s shocked to see Nines holding the gift in front of his eyes, lips pulled in a hesitant smile. His watery gaze is fixed on the key that dangles from the key chain, the bullet from their game of Russian Roulette set on the ring.

 

Gavin waits for the gangster to say something. And when the words don’t come, he feels a tightness in his chest.

 

“It’s a key to my place,” Gavin mumbles, feeling like an idiot. “Thought since, you know, you’re always breaking in...”

 

Silence.

 

He feels his courage waver. Nines must hate it. That’s why he hasn’t said anything.

 

“It’s really fucking dumb. You don’t need to keep it,” Gavin adds quickly. “I know you like expensive shit. But I kept the bullet you left at the hotel—”

 

“You are giving me your house key.”

 

There’s something like disbelief in Nines’ voice, the statement coming out almost like a question.

 

Gavin swallows thickly. “Uh, y-yeah. I want you around, Nines.”

 

The key clatters onto the table and Gavin tries not to let the hurt show on his face. But he has little time to dwell on his hurt feelings, Nines kissing him so fiercely, Gavin nearly stumbles back onto the couch. He kisses the gangster back in confusion, doesn’t question it when Nines’ fingers pull at the buttons of his shirt, snaps one, and then tugs the material down his arms. Gavin never liked that fucking shirt anyway.

 

“So you don’t hate it?” Gavin pants, lets Nines tug him towards the stairs. He doesn’t get an answer right away, Nines shoving him against the wall near the bottom step, sliding a leg between Gavin’s thighs and claiming his lips wantonly. Feeling a hand trail down his chest, Gavin whimpers when fingers slip into the hem of his loose dress pants.

 

“Of course I don’t,” Nines whispers, toying with the waist band. His voice is heavy with emotion as he regards Gavin with open, unguarded affection. “There is nothing you can give me that I would despise, Gavin.”

 

With the last of his trepidation slipping away, Gavin kisses Nines chastely, a gasp bursting from his throat when long fingers graze the shaft of his cock. Even with the restriction of his pants, the teasing touch feels better than anything Gavin’s done to himself recently and he’s uttering the gangster’s name in a breathless plea.

 

“This will be a lot easier once I have rid you of these.”

 

Dropping to his knees, Nines stares up impishly at Gavin.

 

_Fuck…_

 

Gavin’s breath hitches in anticipation as Nines slowly slides his pants down his legs. He steps out of them, clad now in only his boxer-briefs, half-lidded gaze dropping to the gorgeous man pressing tender kisses to the inside of Gavin’s thigh. His erection pulls the material taut, begging for some attention, and Gavin has to bite down on his lip to keep from crying out loudly when Nines begins to mouth at the rough cotton covering it.

 

“I want to hear you.”

 

The rough need in Nines’ command has Gavin submitting without question.

 

Tangling his fingers in Nines’ hair, Gavin’s cock twitches when the gangster kisses the covered tip of it, his tongue flicking where the head of it sits. Already, the material’s been dampened by beads of precum, made wetter by the saliva Nines builds in his mouth, slides his tongue against the underside Gavin’s cock. In the limited light, Gavin can just barely see a few drops dribble down the gangster’s chin, the gangster salivating over the detective’s cock like a dog begging for a bone. And fuck if that doesn’t make Gavin feel like the luckiest prick alive, watching and trembling as those kiss-swollen lips roll over his clothed dick, taking him fully and easily.

 

“Fuck, babe, you look so hot like that,” Gavin whines, tugging hard as Nines begins to move his mouth. “F-fuck!”

 

Nines suckles with abandon, not caring how much of a mess his mouth makes. The slightly muted sensation of the cloth barrier that keeps Gavin from feeling the heat of Nines’ throat is a blessing in disguise: this worked up and desperate, Gavin doesn’t trust that he wouldn’t be cumming in under a minute, dick longing to spill a month’s worth of pent up frustration. Nines makes a sound in his throat and even the vibrations are nearly enough to have Gavin cumming.

 

Popping off, Nines doesn’t bother swiping at his wet lips, lopsided smirk making Gavin’s stomach flip. “I don’t believe you’ll be needing these much longer.”

 

And he does something Gavin only recalls having witnessed the gangster do once before: pulling the hem between his teeth, Nines tugs Gavin’s underwear down his hips, past his thighs, the detective assisting by lifting his feet out of them. His underwear in Nines’ mouth is the sexiest thing Gavin’s seen in ages and his eyes darken at the sight.

 

“Fucking Christ, Nines. You keep doing shit like that, we’re not gonna make it upstairs,” Gavin groans.

 

His bare cock exposed to the air conditioned coolness of the apartment, Gavin shivers. Or perhaps it’s from the heated look in Nines’ eyes, as if the gangster has every nefarious intention of devouring Gavin whole.

 

The underwear drops from his lips, his breathy exhale tickling the tip of Gavin’s dick. As the gangster’s lips part, it takes everything Gavin has to not shove himself inside, push until he’s burying himself in the narrow cavern of Nines’ throat.

 

But before Nines’ mouth can slide on his cock, the gangster’s lips close in a firm line and he’s rising to his feet. The disappointed whine is swallowed by the kiss Nines delivers and he presses Gavin hard against the wall, his own thick cock digging hard into the detective’s hip. With a teasing laugh, Nines says, “Then we better get up there before I take you right here.”

 

Gavin’s never scrambled up stairs that fast before.

 

Once in the loft, Nines leads Gavin to the bed, pushes him down so he is sprawled beneath him. Falling between Gavin’s open thighs, the gangster ruts gently against him, his mouth seeking what skin is nearest, nipping and sucking at unmarked flesh, leaving a trail of bruises so everyone will know Gavin’s claimed. Not that Gavin would even dream of the gangster taking him in any other way: as much as he hated having to make up the bullshit story about Nick, he always wears Nines’ marks like a badge of honor, wants everyone to look at him and know that he’s being fucked by someone. It sure as hell is better than all the recent pity he’s gotten from his friends at work.

 

Gavin’s hands blindly seek out the only remaining barrier between them, tugging the gangster’s underwear down roughly. Once they’re kicked off and Nines is sliding against him, cock against cock, Gavin’s making a whine so wanton, it has the gangster breathlessly chuckling.

 

“We will get there soon,” Nines promises, one of his hands falling between them to ghost over Gavin’s erection. The detective arches into the touch but the gangster is already retracting his hand. “First, there is the matter of making you ready for me. I want you to take the lubricant from the bedside table and open yourself.”

 

“You wanna watch me fuck myself?”

 

“I want to watch as you prep and imagine how much better it will feel once I have filled you,” Nines whispers, his voice thick with need.

 

So Nines wants Gavin to put on a little show for him?

 

Gavin smirks.

 

That is something he is very willing to do.

 

He crawls across the large bed to the nearest side, opens up the drawer and pulls out the unused bottle of lubricant. He takes it as a good sign that there’s a new bottle, though as he notes the package of condoms, Gavin can’t help but question if it’s something Nines has had for a while or something that’s been recently used. A wave of jealousy leaves a cold sensation in the pit of his stomach but it’s something he has to know.

 

“No problems on my end, babe,” he starts, taking out the bottle. A condom in hand, he asks, “But, uh, we gonna need this?”

 

His eyes flicker nervously to Nines. Though his voice is even, he can’t help but hold his breath, anxiously steels himself for whatever answer is given.

 

_You been with anyone else?_

 

If he had the luxury of ignorance, he’d take it. He really doesn’t need to be thinking about Nines fucking someone who isn’t him. But a lot can happen in four weeks and if they go back to doing this the way they used to, Gavin needs to know if they have to play it safe.

 

“You are asking if I had anyone else since the last time we were together.”

 

Gavin gives a weak nod of his head.

 

Nines expression is unreadable as he crawls towards Gavin, gingerly plucks the condom from the detective’s fingers. Mentally, Gavin’s thinking _please say ‘No’_ but he knows how easy it would be for Nines to catch anyone’s eye, how Nines can easily be the most handsome and charismatic man in any room he occupies. Gavin also knows that given the situation, he is in no place to judge if Nines had found a partner or two to begin to move on from their relationship.

 

There’s a melancholic smile on the gangster’s lips as he reaches around Gavin to drop the condom back into the drawer.

 

“No, Gavin. There hasn’t been anyone else.”

 

“Yeah but that prick Daniel—”

 

“I may have simply invited him with the intention of upsetting you,” Nines admits, looking somewhat embarrassed. There’s no doubt how effective that was since Gavin couldn’t look in their direction without feeling his own thoughts slip into murderous hatred for the attractive blond.

 

Taking the detective’s face in his hands, Nines says, softly, “I was angry and...upset, after what I had witnessed. But given everything we are to each other, how could I want anyone else?”

 

Relief silences the last echoes of doubt in Gavin’s head and he accepts the gentle kiss Nines gives him, deepens it and grips the gangster tightly. It makes him sink in the despair of his own guilt momentarily because Nines should never have thought Gavin wanted to be with anyone but him.

 

But now...now, he has a chance to prove that he is right where he belongs.

 

With Nines seated at the edge of the bed, Gavin straddles him, takes the bottle of lubricant and squirts a copious amount onto his hand. He strokes up Nines’ shaft, watches with a darkened gaze as the gangster’s breath hitches and lust pools in his gray eyes. With a smirk, Gavin releases his cock, his slicked fingers now seeking his hole. He wastes no time in teasing himself, circling only once before the tip begins to push in. A lewd sound spills from his lips, his toes curling as he as feels the familiar stretch. The fingers gripping his waist dig in sharply.

 

“F-fuck,” he whimpers, pressed in as far as his finger will go.

 

Nines is studying his face with shameless interest, eyes so blown, the irises have all but disappeared. It makes color fill Gavin’s cheeks as he sees how turned on Nines is by him, how much the gangster still wants him. He pulls out slowly, exhaling heavily, and then thrusts back in, pushing hard against the resistance he is met with.

 

“Nines,” he gasps, doing as he said he would, fucking himself open.

 

His cock pokes the gangster’s hard abdomen and Gavin shudders. Soft lips seek his shoulder, kissing a path to where it meets his neck. As a hand slides down to cup his ass firmly, a command is whispered against his skin, “Keep touching yourself. I want to see you come undone.”

 

Gavin trembles, does as ordered and begins to add another finger. He thrusts in deep, scissors them until the burn’s near painful, head thrown back as he releases a throaty groan. Those lips seek out the pulse point on his neck, pull and suckle at the flesh, Nines giving his ass an encouraging squeeze. Already, Gavin’s growing impatient to seat himself on the gangster’s dick, body aching to be filled.

 

“Fuck, babe,” Gavin whines, hand moving as he desperately fingers himself, “W-want you in me. C-can’t fucking wait.”

 

“You are hardly ready yet,” Nines says, though Gavin doesn’t miss the way his voice cracks with need. His eyes rake over the detective hungrily, a hand sliding up his back, touching Gavin’s skin as if to refamiliarize himself with his lover’s flesh. Gavin doesn’t want to ever know again what it’s like to be without the gangster’s touch.

 

He forces a third finger inside of him, doesn’t care how much it hurts in his haste. He’s exhaling hard, pressing until he’s buried down to the last knuckles and then he’s curling to stroke his fingers against that sensitive bundle of flesh, Nines’ name a plea on his tongue. In and out, he strokes until he’s so close to the edge, he’s about to tumble off of it, the pressure in his abdomen near unbearable.

 

He’s so fucking close…

 

“Enough.”

 

It takes will Gavin doesn’t expect himself to have, practically _hurts_ as he extracts his fingers. He’s shuddering with need, gripping the gangster’s shoulders tightly as he comes down, half certain that if he so much as grinds his hips, he’ll be releasing before Nines has given him permission to.

 

Fingers tenderly push aside strands of sweaty hair, though despite the control Nines is showing, there’s no denying the savage appetite in his gaze, the appreciative glance that drinks in the vision of Gavin, sweaty and naked and aching for him. Gavin’s panting heavily, leaning into Nines’ gentle touch, brimming with impatience for the gangster to indulge him.

 

“You look so lovely like this,” Nines remarks and Gavin wants to cry in frustration over how unaffected the gangster is acting.

 

“Nines,” Gavin begs, lips ghosting against the gangster’s. His plea is so broken, it should be humiliating but Gavin loves it when he’s dragged to this point, reduced to a weeping mess. “Fuck me.”

 

The gangster appears to contemplate Gavin’s request.

 

“ _Nines!”_

 

With a chuckle, Nines says, “I suppose you’ve suffered long enough.”

 

Without warning, he flips them so Gavin’s on his back, legs dangling off the edge, and Nines is standing over him. The ease and power Nines displays makes Gavin shiver but it’s the predatory look in his eyes that leaves the breath caught in the detective’s throat. Positioning himself against the detective’s entrance, Nines holds Gavin by the hips and slowly eases the tip of his cock past the first ring of resistance. The thickness of it has Gavin squeezing his eyes shut, biting back a cry, fingers gripping at the bedspread beneath him.

 

Fucking Christ, he’s never gonna get used to how god damn huge Nines’ cock is.

 

Steadying Gavin’s hips, Nines pushes and pushes, the rough stretch burning as the detective struggles to accommodate his lover. Once inside completely, Nines exhales shakily and Gavin sees the blissful expression on the gangster’s handsome face, his heart stuttering at the sight. Nines always looks gorgeous but there’s always something particularly wild yet tender about the way he gets when they are intimate that brings out this sappy need in the detective to surrender entirely, submit to whatever thrall Nines has placed him under. For not the first, nor the last time, that night, Gavin thinks, _I’m so fucking_ _in_ _love with you_ , and it has his gaze misting.

 

Noticing the expression the detective wears, Nines leans down, kisses Gavin gently. There’s as much emotion swimming in his eyes but all he can bring himself to say is, “I have missed being with you like this.”

 

 _Me too_ , Gavin thinks, swallowing thickly.

 

Nines pulls out half way, thrusts in carefully. He waits until Gavin relaxes and then begins to move once more. And suddenly, it’s as if this last month hadn’t happened at all, both falling into a familiar rhythm that leaves Gavin trembling, Nines gasping breathlessly, the slap of skin on skin barely heard beneath the needy groans pouring from the detective’s parted lips. Nines stands over him, hands gripping his waist sharply, pulling Gavin back towards him each time he pushes in. Not that Gavin needs the encouragement as he moves his hips to meet each of the gangster’s thrusts, legs lifted and bent towards his chest.

 

“Oh fuck!” Gavin’s crying out, canting his hips for the perfect angle.

 

Nines lifts Gavin’s legs, rests the balls on his feet on his shoulders. Leaning forward, the intensity of the angle as he pistons hard into the detective has Gavin throwing his head back with a loud moan. It renders him an absolute mess, a litany of near incomprehensible “Fuck, yes, yes, oh fuck, babe, yes, please!” filling the space between them as Nines drives repeatedly into him. The steady pressure that’s been building inside of him escalates when Nines hits the right spot and Gavin knows he’s not gonna be able to hold on much longer, not if the gangster keeps fucking him like this.

 

“Touch yourself,” Nines demands, voice broken. “Darling, I w-want you to cum for me.”

 

The wild need in his eyes follows the path of Gavin’s hand as the detective grips himself, strokes firmly. A handful of strokes and Nines slams into him, Gavin’s vision whiting out as hot threads of cum spill onto his fingers. He cries out his lover’s name, milks himself as Nines rams into him unrelenting, rides each euphoric tremor of his orgasm until he’s a whimpering, boneless mess, skin slicked with his sweat and spunk.

 

“G-Gavin,” Nines groans loudly, suddenly going rigid.

 

And Gavin feels him spill, hard and heavy, filling him to the brim with his hot cum. A few meager thrusts and Nines empties himself, drops his weight to the back of Gavin’s thighs as his head falls forward. Drops of sweat trickle down his cheeks and the gangster pants heavily and fuck Gavin will never get enough of this, of how fucking wonderful it feels to have Nines cum inside of him.

 

But as the gangster shifts, Gavin can’t help but grunt with discomfort, nearly bent in half. It isn’t the position that’s uncomfortable—Gavin is more flexible than he’d ever dare admit, not unless he wants god damn Chen to rib him for it for days—but with 180 pounds of muscle pressing against the back of his legs, he’s quickly feeling the strain.

 

His fucking fault for missing every leg day since 2030.

 

“Babe?”

 

Nines must hear the strain in his voice as he pulls out with a somewhat sheepish smirk and then collapses tiredly onto the bed beside Gavin. Both of them breathe heavily, Gavin curling onto his side to face Nines. Even in the darkness of the room, he can make out the warmth Nines regards him with, the rise and fall of his chest in time with his breaths. A hand cradles the detective’s cheek and Gavin is content to just lay there, stare into Nines’ eyes, let the rest of the world slip away from them.

 

“You’re the first person I’ve ever invited over,” Nines admits, quietly.

 

Gavin’s pulse quickens.

 

He knows that coming here means Nines is trusting him, despite having reason not to. Though Nines hasn’t made the same confession as Gavin had earlier, the detective had never said those words wishing to hear them back: that moment had been all about him surrendering to a truth he has kept to himself for some time now.

 

Nines doesn’t have to say it. Because it’s in gestures like this, as the gangster slowly opens up and lets the detective in, that Gavin knows it to be true.

 

“Guessing you don’t want people messing your place up,” he says, with a half-grin.

 

It adds some much wanted levity to the moment, Nines smirking. “Given the state of my living room, I may be starting to regret this.”

 

“Hey, _you_ undressed _me_.”

 

The gangster glances over him appreciatively. “I cannot say I am displeased the result.”

 

Gavin punches him playfully on the shoulder and Nines chuckles, pulling the detective into his arms. Though Gavin feigns putting up a struggle, he relents once the gangster starts kissing him, melts into the warmth of his embrace and kisses him back just as eagerly. It’s almost hard to believe that but a few short hours ago, Gavin was half-convinced he would never have this again. Funny how all it took was him growing the fuck up and owning up to his shit instead of avoiding an uncomfortable conversation, as he had always done in the past.

 

Reluctantly breaking off the kiss, Gavin sighs. “Gonna get this cleaned off before I pass out. Hey, you mind if I...?”

 

“If you mean to do something about your breath, I will not stop you.”

 

Gavin makes a face. “Coulda said something earlier.”

 

“I am far too fond of you to let something as benign as bad breath prevent me from taking you,” Nines says, softly.

 

He takes Gavin’s hand and kisses the inside of his palm, lips lingering on the roughened skin. It’s shit like this that always turns Gavin into a complete sap and even he can’t keep up the pretense of being annoyed.

 

Reluctantly, he gets up. He hates having to leave Nines for even a moment so soon after getting back together. The only comfort is knowing that once he’s cleaned up, he’ll have the rest of the night—and however long Nines will put up with him on Gavin’s day off—to enjoy the gangster.

 

So Gavin does his thing—pisses, cleans off the dried cum, washes his face—and has the mouth wash in hand when he hears a knock on the door.

 

“Yeah, what is it, babe?”

 

Nines comes in, seems a bit awkward. Gavin only realizes that besides helping the gangster earlier, they’ve never really been in the bathroom together like this, post-coital. Though it would make more sense to, Gavin’s never even helped clean the gangster’s wounds in the bathroom, the few times he’s done it, often preferring the kitchen for that. There is something very personal and, well, _domestic_ about being in this space together, one of those stepping stones both have unconsciously avoided for so long.

 

“I have spare tooth brushes, if you would prefer,” Nines says.

 

He reaches over Gavin, opens the medicine cabinet, and takes one out. Almost nervously, he offers it to the detective.

 

Gavin accepts it and tries not to feel so overwhelmed by the affection he experiences in what should be a simple gesture. As he brushes his teeth, he feels Nines’ eyes on him, watching him carefully. Were it anyone else, Gavin would find it unsettling but he notices a heavy look in the gangster’s gaze as Gavin glances at him in the mirror. As if there’s something that remains unsaid.

 

Finishing up, Gavin turns towards the gangster. “Something up?”

 

For a moment, he worries Nines regrets what they did but he doesn’t have time to entertain those unwarranted fears, the shy smile on the gangster’s lips burying that seed of doubt. “I have been thinking about earlier in the evening, something you had said.”

 

“Yeah?”

 

Taking his hands in his, Nines seems as nervous as ever, pauses to collect his thoughts. “Gavin, you should know, I...”

 

He swallows and his eyes drop to the floor. His lips part, yet all that follows is more silence. When no other words come, Gavin squeezes his hands gently.

 

“...I simply wanted to thank you,” Nines finally says, quietly. “You had as much right to be upset over my refusal to speak with you after what occurred. I certainly had not expected you to take care of me after the things I accused you of. I...may have let my insecurity cloud my judgment.”

 

“You’re allowed to be pissed,” the detective answers. He knows it’s doing him no favors but he adds, honestly, “Fuck, if I caught you with Kamski or something, I don’t think I’d be sticking around for an excuse. I know there’s no shit between you but—you know, there _was_. And that’s kinda hard to ignore.”

 

Nines gazes at him with a soft, melancholic look on his face. After a moment, he says, “I doubted you and I shouldn’t have. I hope I never give you reason to feel that way. You...are important to me, Gavin.”

 

There’s something weighing on him, words that seem trapped in his throat. But Gavin’s not gonna push, not if Nines is not ready to say them.

 

“I know, babe,” Gavin says, voice thick with emotion. He gently tugs on Nines’ hands. “Why don’t we get some sleep, save the heavy shit for some other night?”

 

Nines doesn’t argue as Gavin leads them back into the bedroom.

 

Once beneath the covers, Gavin feels Nines press into his back, lips grazing the back of his neck and an arm curled around his waist. He almost swears he can make out an unspoken confession mouthed against his flesh but even if those words are never uttered, Gavin knows that being here with Nines is all he needs.

 

_I love you_

 

And maybe, that’s enough.


	3. Shoot Me Down

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gavin discovers something that changes everything he thought he knew.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone! Thanks for your patience. These last few days have been incredibly chaotic. I have only just returned to the country and am still fighting off my jet lag so if you see any glaring mistakes in this part, I am really sorry! I did my best to edit but my brain has been on autopilot for the last two days. I will try to get to answering people's comments since I am finally at my laptop again so please bear with me. I promise I am not ignoring anyone!
> 
> As a warning, this chapter is not a happy one. Those of you who have recently watched Endgame and/or follow Game of Thrones may be upset with me as I imagine you're already in the process of recovering and this chapter may only shatter your heart further...feel free to be angry with me >.>.
> 
> Happy reading?

The steady rise and fall of the chest pressed to his back is the sensation Gavin wakes to, rhythmic exhales tickling the hairs on the back of his neck. He shifts and the arm thrown over his waist tightens possessively, lips ghosting over his skin until they begin to leave a trail of lazy kisses on his flesh. A breathless sigh spills off Gavin’s lips and he burrows further beneath the covers, basking in the affection given freely. The scent of sex overwhelms the lingering smell of Nines’ cologne that clings to the bedding and it leaves the detective’s chest fluttering.

 

He’s in bed. With Nines. At Nines’ apartment. For once, this isn’t some cruel dream that’s ripped from him the second his alarm blares or the sun’s rays pull him from sleep.

 

A fresh start. Maybe the universe isn’t out to fuck Gavin over after all.

 

Those lips become more insistent, pulling at his skin, marking their path. His dick takes a very keen interest, having woken up rock hard, and he rolls onto his back, tugs Nines closer. The gangster follows, mouth finding Gavin’s, kissing him softly. A moan is buried in the detective’s throat, his lips parting to allow Nines access. His arms wrap around the gangster, pulling him against the detective, and Nines slides between Gavin’s thighs.

 

“B-babe,” Gavin groans, a tremor rocking him when their cocks brush together.

 

“Good morning, darling,” Nines whispers, the last syllable hitching. Even hidden beneath the black covers, Gavin can just make out the dark, lust-filled pools of Nines’ eyes.

 

“Gonna fuck me, gorgeous?”

 

Nines smirks, rolls his hips against Gavin’s. Fuck, Gavin’s so down for round two, doesn’t want to consider getting out of this bed unless it’s to piss. He can always eat and get other shit done when it’s not his day off.

 

“Is that what you want?”

 

The teasing tone the gangster employs falters as both of them groan against each other’s lips. Gavin ruts up against Nines’ heavy cock, kisses him roughly in response. His foot slides down along the back of the gangster’s calf, soft, fine hairs tickling the tips of his toes.

 

 _Of course it’s what I fucking want,_ Gavin thinks, eagerly.

 

Nines is blindly reaching out from the blankets, kissing Gavin heatedly, hand seeking the bottle of lubricant. That’s when Gavin’s ears perk to an unexpected sound and a strange, unsettling feeling washes over him.

 

He breaks off the kiss, stills beneath the gangster. Pulling the blankets down, Gavin’s straining to hear where the sound is coming from: somewhere downstairs. As if there’s somebody moving around down there.

 

“You hear that?” he asks, in answer to the concerned look Nines is giving him.

 

Nines immediately relaxes. “That would be one of the cleaners. Kamski usually sends someone Sunday mornings.”

 

Deciding the issue settled, Nines starts kissing Gavin’s neck. However, Gavin can already feel blood filling his cheeks, the deep blush spreading down to his chest as he realizes, mortified, that whoever is down there can hear _everything_. The open loft is only separated from the lower level by the balcony and staircase, with not even a wall to block out the sounds he’s been making for the past few minutes.

 

“They, uh, gonna be long?”

 

Detecting Gavin’s hesitation, Nines stops what he’s doing. “They are never here for more than thirty minutes since I keep a clean space. Last night was a bit of an exception.”

 

“All my shit’s down there,” Gavin groans, hiding his face in Nines’ chest.

 

If there was any doubt at all about whether Nines was upstairs alone, Gavin’s clothing being discarded all over the living room would surely silence it.

 

The asshole’s chuckling, amused by Gavin’s embarrassment. “I never expected you to be so...apprehensive about anyone hearing us. I am sure this is not the first time Tatiana has made a house call while the homeowners are being intimate.”

 

“Nines!”

 

The whine buried in the gangster’s chest has him laughing even harder. Gavin can feel his entire face flaring so hot, he’s surprised his ears haven’t burned off. “Perhaps we had best wait for her to leave then, if it will put you at ease.”

 

_Fucking right it would!_

 

Nines disentangles himself from Gavin’s grip, bemused smirk still on his face. The detective glowers, though now he feels just as humiliated over making a big deal and interrupting what they were doing. But Nines doesn’t seem to mind, leaning in to press a kiss to his temple. There’s no judgment in his expression; only silent adoration. “While I am feeling infinitely better this morning, I believe a shower is in order. Care to join me?”

 

When Gavin colors further, Nines pokes him in the ribs. “I am only teasing you, Gavin. I would not wish to defile your virtue with an audience to overhear us.”

 

“Oh my fucking God, would you just go already?” the detective complains, though he hardly means it.

 

Nines takes his hand and kisses two of his knuckles, a tender look in his eyes. “I will be done shortly. Should Tatiana finish and you feel brave enough to venture downstairs, would you mind starting a pot of coffee?”

 

“You really trust me to fuck around in your kitchen?” Gavin asks Nines’ retreating backside.

 

The gangster pauses at the entrance to the bathroom, a playful smirk on his lips. “Darling, I hardly trust you in your own kitchen. But if you somehow manage to fail at something as simple as brewing coffee, I will consider you beyond help.”

 

He laughs as Gavin flips him off, shutting the door quietly behind him. The detective fails to hold back a fond grin, warmth filling his chest as he gets a good look at the state of the room. Nines’ clothes from the night before are nowhere to be seen and he’s guessing the gangster tossed them in a hamper somewhere in the middle of the night, before inviting Gavin up. An empty glass sits by the bottle of aspirin on one table, the bottle of lube on the other. His heart thuds as he recalls Nines saying he’s never brought anyone back here, yet he kept an unused bottle of lube and condoms—the same ones they had used early in their affair—within reach.

 

 _He’s wanted to invite me over for a while,_ Gavin realizes.

 

The thought makes him feel warm all over. It’s strange how easy they have fallen back into their comfortable pattern but, in other ways, it’s not. Gavin’s held back when it’s come to saying how he really feels but it’s never stopped him from showing Nines when the words have eluded him. He’s most himself when he’s with the gangster so it seems easy to pick up where they left off, to write off the last few weeks as a misunderstanding.

 

Not long after he hears the shower running, Gavin’s surprised to hear the closing of the front door. The cleaner hadn’t been there very long at all. But with the apartment keeping the appearance of a spotless show house, Gavin guesses that there wasn’t much for her to do.

 

Deciding he can use a coffee—and definitely a cigarette—Gavin makes his way downstairs. He’s embarrassed to see all his clothing neatly folded on the coffee table, his personal items left untouched. Though he’s guessing he’ll be removing everything again soon, he puts everything on anyway, just in case. He’s noticed the absence of any lingering tobacco smell and isn’t sure if the cleaning staff is just that fucking good or if Nines prefers smoking on the balcony.

 

Stepping into the kitchen, Gavin rummages through the cupboards and finds what he’s looking for pretty quickly: coffee beans. But when he glances at what he suspects is the coffee maker, he frowns. Leave it to his fucking boyfriend to have the most complicated machine just to make a god damn cup of coffee.

 

“How the fuck does this thing even work?” he grumbles.

 

He takes out his phone, begins searching for the machine’s model and instructions on how to use it. An annoying ping echoes in the room and for a moment, he wonders if maybe he took his phone off vibrate. But as the notification sound happens again, Gavin’s eyes flick to the kitchen island.

 

He doesn’t remember seeing that tablet there the night before.

 

He tries to ignore it but a series of notifications has him furrowing his brows. Shoving his phone back into his pocket, he reaches for the tablet, about to put it on silent, when his eyes glance over the most recent notification presented on the sleek screen.

 

[K Aug 14 9:56 AM]

_You were supposed to check in last night with an update on the Reed situation._

 

“The fuck?”

 

A slow, sick feeling settles in the pit of his stomach.

 

That can’t be Kamski. No fucking way would he be messaging Nines about him.

 

But who the fuck else would K be?

 

Gavin knows he shouldn’t, not with how precarious Nines’ trust is in him right now. He doesn’t want to be that asshole who goes snooping through his boyfriend’s shit.

 

Another message pings on the screen.

 

[K Aug 14 9:57 AM]

_I hope, for your sake, you followed orders this time. Gavin Reed is too much of a risk to be released from your influence._

 

There’s a burning sensation, like bile caught in his throat, as Gavin slowly fits the pieces together. He doesn’t want this to mean what he thinks it does, grows cold at the idea of what he has with Nines all being built on a deception. But then, he’s remembering the first debriefing Connor held when the DPD proposed sending someone in undercover to one of Kamski’s clubs.

 

“The suspect is charismatic and not above using emotional and psychological manipulation to gain the trust of anyone he perceives as ‘useful’ to Kamski’s organization,” Connor had said, a frown on his face as he addressed the officers. “Therefore, the person we select to go undercover must remain level-headed in any interactions they have with Richard Stern, preferably, avoiding contact when other options are made available. Those who are suspected of wearing out their ‘welcome’ in Kamski’s inner circle have a habit of ‘disappearing’.”

 

Unable to ignore the numbing dread that fills his veins, Gavin taps the message notification. Without any lock, the tablet displays the chat between Nines and ‘K’, a mostly one-sided conversation from the evening before. As he reads each message, that sick feeling spreads like a fast-acting poison.

 

[K Aug 13 10:36 PM]

_The detective left some time ago. Update._

 

[9s Aug 13 10:41 PM]

_He has not arrived._

 

[K Aug 13 10:41 PM]

_You gave him clear instructions on where to go?_

 

[9s Aug 13 10:43 PM]

_Perhaps he changed his mind._

 

[K Aug 13 10:44 PM]

_I don’t care if he’s changed his mind. Fix it. The last thing we need is for your loose pet drawing suspicion to us._

 

[K Aug 13 10:45 PM]

_If he fails to arrive, find him. I want this resolved TONIGHT._

 

Nines never responded after that. The rest of the messages were sent from ‘K’ this morning.

 

[K Aug 14 9:54 AM]

_Is it resolved?_

 

[K Aug 14 9:55 AM]

_I’m not known for being patient._

 

[K Aug 14 9:55 AM]

_The order was clear: do and say everything you need to bring Gavin Reed back under our control._

 

[K Aug 14 9:56 AM]

_You were supposed to check in last night with an update on the Reed situation._

 

[K Aug 14 9:57 AM]

_I hope, for your sake, you followed orders this time. Gavin Reed is too much of a risk to be released from your influence._

 

He reads and rereads, absorbing each word with disbelief that grows fainter the more he accepts the truth. Because all the signs are there, bread crumbs he’s ignored for so long because he was so fucking desperate to believe otherwise, to think that anyone could look past his gruff demeanor and give a shit about the person underneath.

 

The roses. The fights they’ve had where Nines always buckled first: and Gavin _knows_ Nines is stubborn as shit, maybe worse than him. But how fucking bad would it look if Nines had to go skulking back to his boss, tail between his legs, because he couldn’t keep his fucking ‘pet’ in line?

 

The sweet ‘confessions’ pressed to his skin, honeyed words crafted to make Gavin feel _wanted_ when by now, he should know fucking better. All he has to do is look at Nines and wonder why in the fuck anyone who looks like _that_ would be with him.

 

Gavin’s so fucking disgusted, he’s swallowing hard, as if burying the urge to vomit.

 

Nines lied to him.

 

He fucking _lied_.

 

Gavin knows he should put down the tablet but once the floodgate has burst, there’s no stopping the masochistic curiosity that has him eyeing a shortcut simply entitled _Reed_. Before he can stop himself, he’s clicking it and is redirected to a folder containing a series of files. The older photos don’t surprise him, as Nines had used that to intimidate the shit out of him back at the warehouse. But the newer ones, some taken while Gavin’s been thoroughly fucked and is passed out—others taken with him and Nines in some of the hotel rooms they’ve stayed at, as if from hidden cameras—have him gripping the tablet hard enough, he half suspects the screen to crack. The betrayal of his privacy— _their_ privacy—is clearly blackmail fodder, no different than the footage from the warehouse Gavin sees in the folder.

 

He goes through the other files: in-depth medical records obtained on him from Detroit Memorial, confidential files from the DPD of his career—fucking Christ, someone higher up than him must be in Kamski’s pocket to give away shit like this—and even some DNA test Gavin can’t even be surprised Nines has. For all he fucking knows, that lying piece of shit probably wanted to test Gavin for the ‘gullible asshole’ gene and he’s so livid, he can’t be bothered to look at what it contains.

 

But before he can bring himself to chuck the device and smash it into a thousand, fucking pieces, his eyes are scouring a document that seems to have been written by the gangster. An in-depth profile on Nines’ ‘target’, including a series of potential ‘solutions’ to throw off the investigation Kamski was tipped off to. The very investigation that Connor is still conducting.

 

 _They have a fucking mole on the god damn team,_ Gavin realizes.

 

‘ _...subject is volatile, uncooperative, and thrives in conflict. Demonstrates severe signs of antisocial conduct and mistrusts those outside of his immediate circle,_ Gavin reads. _However, he is also ambitious and responds positively to having his accomplishments acknowledged. His pitiful failures at establishing meaningful romantic connections and consistent clashing with his superiors at work suggests dissatisfaction with both his personal and professional life._

 

_Analysis: Gavin Reed’s low self-esteem and moral ambiguity may be manipulated, so long as his needs for approval and acceptance are met._

 

_Suggestion: approach the target with romantic intent. Employ persuasion/seduction to dismantle the undercover operation. Ongoing contact with the target may be necessary to render him ineffective in the investigation.’_

 

“Gavin?”

 

That voice, that not so long ago had him ache with need, now has him sneering in disgust. His eyes dart up to the gangster standing on the other side of the island and just seeing the surprise on that handsome face has angry, bitter tears welling in Gavin’s eyes.

 

“I’m nothing but a fucking job to you?” Gavin tries to snap. But the anger in his voice cracks with a note of sorrow that shatters the fragile part of him he’s given to Nines, as if with each word, he feels the fragments spill through his fingers.

 

Nines gaze falls to the tablet Gavin is holding. “...where did you get that?”

 

But Gavin’s too fucking angry, too fucking _broken_ , to play this game with Nines.

 

“Answer the fucking question.”

 

There’s confusion, and then a hint of anger, in Nines’ expression. “You should not be going through my things.”

 

“… ‘Target has a miserable disposition and is generally unpleasant to be around’,” Gavin reads, becoming more enraged as he reads off each of his faults. “Is this really what you fucking think of me?!”

 

“Gav—”

 

He smashes the tablet on the counter top, bits of it flying across the marble surface. A spiderweb of cracks appear across the screen and it flickers out, Gavin chucking it to the floor. His vision blurs but he holds the tears back because he’s not gonna give the lying fucker the satisfaction of seeing how shattered he is.

 

“The warehouse. That was all part of your fucking plan with _Kamski!”_ Gavin hisses. “Make me your fucking bitch so I won’t go running to Connor about how shit went down. And everything after that was you doing Kamski’s fucking bidding, keeping me nice and fucked so I won’t try and turn your murdering ass in! This how you get your rocks off? Kamski snaps his fingers and points you in the direction of your next fuck?”

 

Fury flashes in the gangster’s eyes at the accusation but then he’s taking a calming breath, exhaling carefully. “If you would allow me to explain—”

 

“I don’t need your fucking explanations!” Gavin shouts, shaking in his rage. He slams his fist down on the counter, pain shooting up his arm. But it’s nothing compared to the pain and betrayal that makes him feel as if he’s slowly being pulled apart from the inside, colors every moment they’ve ever shared with the humiliation of knowing Gavin’s been a fucking tool this entire time: Nines never gave a shit about him. “I’m sick of your fucking secrets and all those god damn lies you’ve been feeding me! So give me the fucking truth, Stern: did Kamski put you up to this?!”

 

He wants all of this to be a misunderstanding, to be some sick, twisted joke. _Don’t let any of this be real,_ he’s silently begging and as he waits with bated breath, he clings to that sliver of illogical hope.

 

But Nines doesn’t have to say anything as, for the first time since the start of this argument, Gavin sees the truth written in his expression. “Yes, Gavin. He did.”

 

There’s sadness in the gangster’s confession that Gavin wants desperately to believe is not all part of his act. But he doesn’t know what to believe anymore; can’t even be sure if there’s ever been an honest moment between them.

 

Much to his shame, he feels his angry tears spill. As his contempt begins to slip away, he’s left with the raw ache of a sadness that’s more intense than anything he’s ever experienced. He’s been cheated on, he’s had the “love of his life” leave him for someone he once looked up to. But he’s never given himself as unconditionally as he has with Nines, only to have all it be nothing more than a carefully executed manipulation.

 

“I’m a fucking idiot,” Gavin cusses.

 

Voice hitching, he’s brushing by the gangster, vision swimming. He shoves the rest of his things in his pockets, keys and wallet, eager to make his retreat. Nines follows him into the living room and Gavin’s trying so hard to block him out, the sound of the gangster’s voice filling him with an insidious anger.

 

“—never intended for you to find out—” And doesn’t that just make Gavin feel a million times fucking _better_. “—it may have started as an assignment but it has become something more—” More, what? More of a sick game with Kamski and Nines laughing at how much of a fucking moron Gavin is each time he’s fallen harder for Nines’ lying ass? “You must believe that I genuinely—”

 

“Keep your fucking bullet!” Gavin snaps, ripping his key from the key chain he’d given Nines. He throws it angrily at the gangster’s chest. “Put it in your god damn skull for all I fucking care!”

 

“Gavin, _please!_ ” The desperation in the gangster’s voice has the detective hesitating. “Give me a chance. If you would only listen—!”

 

But _listening_ is what got him here in the first place. Every deception, Gavin’s swallowed with the same enthusiasm as the gangster cumming down his throat. How many times has he fallen to his knees and submitted without question?

 

Well, not this fucking time.

 

“Fine! You wanna have this fucking conversation? Answer me this: would we have gotten back together last night if your fucking boss hadn’t sent you after me?”

 

Gavin’s stomach twists as he remembers the evening before, all the times he had glimpsed in Nines direction and, when Nines wasn’t entertaining Daniel, saw both him and Kamski discussing seriously about something. Fuck, they were doing just that not minutes before Nines came over and danced with him.

 

There’s a guilty look on the gangster’s face and Gavin has his answer.

 

“So all of last night was a fucking lie, too,” Gavin says, shaking his head in disgust.

 

It’s all too much. He needs to get out of here before he breaks down completely, succumbs to all the hurt and rage boiling over inside of him.

 

He storms towards the door.

 

“I was being stubborn! And perhaps I would not have forgiven you, without the incentive. But once I had, it wasn’t a choice I regretted!” Nines says insistently, hot on Gavin’s heels. He reaches for the detective, tries to stop his retreat. “I don’t regret anything that’s happened between us! You must know that I’ve never lied about how I feel about you, despite how this all looks. Gavin, darling, I lo—”

 

The sound of Gavin’s palm flying across Nines’ left cheek echoes loudly in the room, silencing those words Gavin doesn’t want to hear. Not when there is no doubt in his mind of how false they would be.

 

The gangster staggers back, a deep, red welt appearing on his face and for a moment, both men are equally stunned. Gavin’s never hit anyone he’s been intimate with before, not outside of any situation without safe words.

 

But when the shock of what he’s done passes, more tears freely slip down his cheeks and he can’t bring himself to feel guilty at all.

 

“I don’t want to hear any more of your fucking bullshit,” Gavin says, quietly, his voice cracking. “You and me, we’re _done._ ”

 

He reaches for the door and with more control than he expected to have, opens it carefully. Not wanting to look back at that handsome face, knowing he will finally give in to all his misery if he has to ever look at that asshole again, Gavin whispers, “Stay the fuck away from me,” before shutting the door behind him.

 

The quiet _click_ of the door as it closes thunders in his head, an omen of everything he’s abandoning. Each heavy footfall that brings him closer to the elevator is buried beneath the sound of that noise. With now a wall between them, Gavin can indulge the trembling in his chest, the sobs he’s swallowing at the back of his throat. Never has he felt this _used_ and all because Nines took advantage of him when he was at his lowest, beaten down from his job and his crumbling relationship with Connor.

 

He swipes at his tears, takes a deep breath as he enters the elevator. He doesn’t need the concierge judging him downstairs, needs to hold it all in a little longer until he’s out of this fucking place.

 

Shoulders slumped and head down, he rushes past the main desk, his dress shoes clicking on the marble floor. Whoever they brought in this morning is all cheery and bubbly and Gavin scowls at— _Jerry_ —before muttering something that may have been a greeting under his breath. He’s pretty sure he hurt the poor kid’s feelings but he’s never been a people person anyway.

 

It’s bright that day, the hot, summer sun bearing down on him, and in his suit from the night before, Gavin can already feel sweat beading on his skin. But all of his physical discomfort fades to the periphery of his focus as he feels that visceral ache inside of him curl, his shaking fingers throwing open the door of his car. He slides into the front seat and stares blearily in front of him, not quite seeing anything. In his head, all he can see, hear, _feel_ is Nines.

 

His coy smirk, his subtle frown of disapproval. His soft laugh whenever he’s caught off guard.

 

Gentle words uttered when he’s deep inside of Gavin. Throaty moans when Gavin’s fucking him. Sweet nothings pressed to Gavin’s skin whenever they’re curled up beneath the sheets.

 

All of it so that Gavin would become a complacent pawn Kamski had removed from the playing board the moment the DPD got a step closer to bringing down his drug op.

 

 _I fucking loved him,_ Gavin thinks, miserably, a tremor shaking in his chest. _But I was fucking nothing to him._

 

Hot tears spring to his eyes, trailing down the paths they had tracked earlier. The hollow ache that’s been building in his chest explodes and he’s dropping his head to the steering wheel, sobs wracking his tired, worn body. For a long time, he remains in that parking lot and cries his heart out, the spare key weighing heavily in his pocket with all its broken promises.

 

* * *

 

He doesn’t know how long he sits in that parking lot before he leaves, the drive back home a blur. He’s sure he only narrowly avoided an accident or two, doesn’t even have the energy to flip off the drivers who cuss him out. Maybe if people would operate their own fucking vehicles, they wouldn’t get nearly rear-ended. Assholes.

 

Once he’s parked in his spot, he pulls out his cigarettes and slowly goes through the pack of menthols. It’s a gorgeous fucking day out and it only pisses him off more. With red-rimmed eyes, he watches absently as smoke wisps out the open crack of the window. He’s trying hard not to think of this morning but with all the words still fresh in his head, it’s as if he’s reliving that argument on repeat. He knows it’s only going to be worse when he goes back upstairs and sees the things in his apartment that remind him of Nines.

 

So he delays until there are no cigarettes left and his car smells more like a used ashtray than usual. He’s debating driving to the nearest convenient store for some more when his phone starts buzzing. He had received messages earlier when driving but he’s been ignoring them, not in the mood to deal with people today. Part of him is also paranoid that it could be Nines, attempting to slither his way back into Gavin’s head. But he knows better now than to ever let that two-faced sack of shit anywhere near him again.

 

Pulling his phone out, he cusses as he sees the messages.

 

[Lt Anderfuck Aug 14 1:04 PM]

_There is something urgent we must discuss._

 

[Lt Anderfuck Aug 14 1:04 PM]

_I will meet you at your apartment._

 

[Lt Anderfuck Aug 14 1:27 PM]

_ETA?_

 

“Fuck sakes, Con,” Gavin mumbles.

 

[Gavin Reed Aug 14 1:29 PM]

_cn it wait til mon? not in the mood_

 

A reply arrives almost immediately.

 

[Lt Anderfuck Aug 14 1:29 PM]

_I am already here._

 

“Shit.”

 

Gavin checks his complexion in the rear-view mirror, frowns as he sees how splotchy his face is. With his messy bedhead and thick stubble, a series of bruises along his neck, he looks like a jilted lover making the walk-of-shame after being unceremoniously kicked out of a stranger’s bed. And if Connor’s already up there, it means he won’t be able to clean himself up before they meet. One look and Connor’s gonna know Gavin disappeared with _someone_ last night and he’s in an even less mood to deal with that line of questioning.

 

Deciding it’s a lost cause anyway, Gavin moodily gives up trying to fix his hair, slams the car door behind him, and makes the journey up to his apartment.

 

He doesn’t see Connor outside his door and assumes the lieutenant already let himself in—fucking abuse of spare key privileges—and his suspicions are confirmed as the door opens. He’s about to bitch about it being his day off and how whatever Connor wants can’t be that fucking important when he meets the lieutenant’s angry and hurt stare.

 

For a moment, Gavin falters, that look reminding him so much of a similar one he had seen last month. But then, he’s pushing aside that thought bitterly: with Nines, it had all been part of his fucking act, probably to make Gavin even more desperate to submit to the gangster’s whims, open himself to more of the asshole’s deceit.

 

In Connor’s case, there’s no doubt that the lieutenant is devastated by whatever it is that’s brought him here.

 

And suddenly, Gavin’s not quite sure he’s gonna like what the lieutenant has to say.

 

“Con, what’s going on?”

 

A prickling sense of dread numbs him to his core and the worst of his suspicions are confirmed when Connor’s expression twists into one of complete outrage.

 

He knows.

 

“Hank mentioned you left early last night,” Connor says, only barely keeping his voice even. The hard edge to it has Gavin standing rooted to the spot, afraid that if he so much as breathes the wrong way, Connor’s going to drop the forced neutrality he’s addressing the detective with. The anger flashing in his brown eyes has Gavin guiltily looking away. “I will give you one chance to be honest with me and I recommend you take it: where were you last night?”

 

A lump forms in the detective’s throat, has him swallowing hard as he absently scuffs his shoe against the floor. Seconds of stifling silence pass between them but Gavin can’t bring himself to confess, not even when he’s got a feeling he’s about to be caught in his lies.

 

So he does what him and Connor always do, falling back into their toxic pattern.

 

He evades.

 

“That’s none of your business, Con,” he mutters, with a lot more bravado than he feels.

 

He doesn’t look at the glare he feels directed at him, the burning rage making his skin prickle uncomfortably.

 

Connor’s shoes click as he paces, a predatory cat circling its mark before it goes in for the kill.

 

“Shortly after the confrontation between yourself and a potential suspect in one of ongoing investigations, I left the ball and waited outside for said suspect to make his exit,” Connor says, going right into lieutenant mode. “Richard Stern has always eluded our attempts to track him and as he rarely makes public appearances with Kamski, I felt it imperative to take this opportunity to follow him.”

 

Gavin flinches as the phone in his back pocket buzzes.

 

“This photo was taken at 9:56 PM last night, outside a condominium owned by Elijah Kamski.”

 

Hesitantly, Gavin takes out his phone. His stomach drops as he sees the image Connor sent him, of Nines entering into the residence.

 

“I wasn’t sure what to expect during my impromptu stake out. I considered that Rich might live there. But seeing as it is owned by Kamski, it’s just as likely he was sent there to conduct some business.”

 

Connor pauses and Gavin hears him taking a shaky breath. The next words are uttered with trust so broken, it makes the detective flinch as if he’s been struck. “What I hadn’t expected was to see you walking through those doors more than an hour later.”

 

Gavin’s hand buzzes and he can barely bring himself to look at the image Connor sent him, ice cold with the proof of their fractured trust sitting in his palm.

 

“By the time I went home last night, you still hadn’t left,” the lieutenant adds, quietly.

 

There’s no accusation in his voice; only the certainty that comes with knowing what Gavin had done.

 

“If it was one time, Gav, I’d understand: you were _hurt_ after everything with Nick and you were in a position of vulnerability, the kind my brother enjoys exploiting,” Connor continues, and Gavin’s taken aback by the genuine sympathy in the lieutenant’s voice. “I can see from the current state he’s left you in that you’ve learned that the hard way.”

 

Gavin’s eyes well at the reminder and he’s blinking the tears back, feeling sick all over again as he thinks of that fucking tablet, all the ways he made himself a pathetic toy for Nines to use.

 

He doesn’t know what to say, grunts in acknowledgment, hugging himself as if he can contain all the self-disgust and hurt and burying it beneath the years of built up trauma and bullshit he’s endured.

 

“There never was a Nick, was there, Gav?”

 

And that hard, unyielding edge is back in Connor’s voice. It’s then that Gavin fixates on what Connor had just said _“If it was one time...”_

 

He raises his eyes sharply.

 

There are so many emotions swimming in the lieutenant’s expressive eyes. But the worst of them, the one that makes Gavin crumble beneath the shame of what he’s done, is the pain of his betrayal written all over Connor’s face.

 

“Con...”

 

“I would ask you how long you’ve been... _with_ my brother,” and the word cracks with so much hurt, Connor not being able to say any more bluntly what Gavin and Nines were to each other, “but I imagine you’d be about as forthcoming with _that_ as you were with my initial question. So, instead, I think it’s necessary to show you a file Hank and I both received anonymously this morning.”

 

He flicks through his phone and then holds the device out to Gavin. With trembling fingers, the detective accepts it. As soon as he sees the screen capture, the video dated from the night he was in the warehouse, his blood turns to ice.

 

Without even starting the video, Gavin shoves the phone back in Connor’s hands. “I don’t need to see it.”

 

“No, I imagine you don’t since you were _there_ ,” Connor hisses, angrily. “And from what Hank and I have seen, it tells a very different story from what you filed in your report of that night.”

 

“Con, I—”

 

“What in the fuck were you thinking?!” the lieutenant explodes, Gavin stumbling a step back as ire burns like an unstoppable wildfire in Connor’s eyes. “My brother, Gav?! MY FUCKING BROTHER! You’ve done a lot of stupid things but this— _this_ has to be the worst thing you’ve ever done!”

 

“You really think you should be bitching me out for being an insensitive jackass?” Gavin snaps back, though he can’t even muster himself to feel as angry as he used to about how things ended with them. “What about the shit you put me through when you started fucking Hank?!”

 

“Don’t even start with me, Gav!” Connor shouts. “You DO NOT get to play the victim! Not this time! _I_ left _you_ because you’re always doing things like this! You care only about yourself and you never think of how your decisions affect everyone around you!”

 

“Yeah, I’m the fucking selfish one! Perfect, fucking Connor, with your perfect, fucking job and your perfect, fucking husband! I forgot: you’ve never done a selfish, fucking thing in your life!”

 

“This isn’t just about your hurt feelings or mine, Gavin! There is someone out there with footage showing an officer colluding with known drug dealers and a suspected murderer!” Connor yells above Gavin. And once the truth of it hits the detective, it has him snapping his mouth shut, effectively silencing his argument. “Regardless of how the events unfolded in that video, you are shown to be complicit by the end of it and if the wrong person gets their hands on this, it will not only ruin your career but also the public’s trust in the DPD!”

 

The lieutenant takes a steadying breath, tames the fury that had him tearing into Gavin seconds before. All the detective can do is stand there like a fucking idiot, not only humiliated by how easily he’s been manipulated but now from being caught in his lies. He had once been petty enough to believe he owed Connor not even the respect of avoiding crossing the unspoken boundary that Nines represented. But seeing the repercussions of his actions, he now knows nothing would ever justify what he did.

 

“We are trying to trace the IP of the sender but as far as I can tell, it was sent from a private network,” Connor says. There’s a look of disgust on his face as he adds, “Not that this should have been an issue to begin with. Had you reported this incident _honestly—_ and with enough tact to avoid explicit details I’d rather not read, much less _watch—_ there would be no reason for me to come here to discuss your career at the DPD moving forward.”

 

Gavin freezes at that, his heart caught in his throat. The implications of what the lieutenant’s saying has the detective’s eyes widening.

 

“C-Con, y-you can’t mean—”

 

“Captain Anderson,” and fuck does that only make Gavin feel worse, as Connor returns to those fucking impersonal formalities, “had wanted to speak with you himself about this tomorrow morning at the DPD. I convinced him it would be best if I spoke with you in private as I felt doing this outside of the DPD might save you the judgment of your coworkers.”

 

Gavin says nothing, waits with breath he’s not aware he’s holding, for Connor to deliver the killing blow.

 

“Given the nature of the video and the...relationship it depicts between yourself and a suspect in our ongoing investigation, it has been decided that you are to be suspended indefinitely until we have just cause to believe you are not cooperating with or complicit in activities that violate the very laws you have sworn to uphold,” Connor says. Despite how angry he is with Gavin, the lieutenant shows some pity as he continues, “you will be expected to relinquish your badge and firearm immediately. We will send the required paperwork, if you would rather avoid having to come in.”

 

Gavin swallows, hard, stares at Connor with disbelief. “Con...you know I’m no dirty cop...”

 

“There are standard procedures we are expected to follow,” Connor answers, somewhat coolly. “However...if I have to offer my honest opinion, I think you did something incredibly thoughtless but not with criminal intent. I have chosen to withhold what I witnessed last night from Hank and I am working on convincing him the night at the warehouse was simply a one time lapse in judgment. With our wedding and the longer work hours you were putting into the case, you were in a highly stressed mental state, one that made you more susceptible to my brother’s manipulations.”

 

Leaning in close, his narrowed gaze and icy tone make Gavin want to shiver. “I am lying to my husband for you. Don’t make me regret it.”

 

The detective nods slowly, his throat too dry for him to speak.

 

“We will do our best to contain the details of your suspension, so as not to damage your reputation with your peers. Once the suspension is lifted,” the use of _once_ and not _if_ makes it a bit easier for him to breathe, “I would highly suggest you consider requesting a transfer. That is, of course, at your discretion but...”

 

He hesitates.

 

“The truth is, Gav, that I don’t know if I can ever work with you again,” Connor says, quietly. There’s a crack in his voice and Gavin can see the unshed tears in the lieutenant’s eyes, his watery gaze forcing the detective to bear the guilt that builds in his chest. “Not after this.”

 

And with all the fight drained from both of them, the badge and firearm Gavin hands to Connor seems almost anti-climatic. The lieutenant refuses to look at him any longer, as if every moment spent in Gavin’s presence is something to be endured.

 

As Connor turns to leave, Gavin finally finds his voice, says, in a tone so sad and broken, words that had never come easy to him when they were together.

 

“I’m sorry, Con. I—I know what I did was really shitty.”

 

Connor’s hand pauses on the door but he doesn’t look back.

 

“It’s too late for your apologies, Gav.”

 

And dropping Gavin’s spare key in the tray by the door, Connor leaves, the door shutting with a gentle click behind him.

 

It reminds him almost too viscerally of the last time Connor walked out on him.

 

He slumps down onto the couch, head falling to his hands, and shudders as the ache inside of him rips him raw, spreads until he’s numbed by the revelation of what he’s lost. His job and one of his closest friends. All for that selfish asshole who never wanted him to begin with.

 

Dropping his head back, he stares up at the ceiling with his blurry gaze.

 

 _Fuck you, Nines,_ he thinks, tears sliding down his temples.

 


	4. Fire Away

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nines has failed one too many times and suffers the consequences.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am still trying to answer all of the comments so please be patient with me! I was really surprised by how many people let their thoughts be known after the craziness of Chapter 3! I had always intended for the reveal to be one giant shit-show and I suspect that some of you may already be out for my blood XD. But there’s more to come, though I do warn you that the conclusion to this part is no happier than its predecessor. A lot of this is setup for something I have been working on.
> 
> Please read all the tags before continuing. This chapter gets a bit more...graphic. Any thoughts you have will be greatly appreciated, even if it is to eviscerate me in the comments.

Elijah Kamski drinks from his tumbler of whiskey, savors the rich burn of the vintage, before he sets the glass down on the nearby coaster. A slow smirk forms on his lips as he picks up his phone, peruses his messages for the latest updates he’s received from the DPD. As his ‘contact’ has informed him, Gavin Reed’s suspension seems to be well underway. And all it took was forwarding an incriminating video to the right people to plant the seeds of doubt, temporarily removing the detective from the equation while Kamski gets his house back in order.

 

After all, since Gavin found the tablet Kamski had strategically placed at Nines’ apartment, he imagines the detective may be in a more vindictive mood and the last thing he needs is for his irascible half-brother to run his mouth off to his coworkers. Not while Nines and Kamski remain ‘people of interest’ in the death of Murphy. With Gavin implicated, it means the Andersons will be less likely to trust anything he says, now that they know the true nature of his connection to Nines.

 

Of course, there is still the matter of what to do with Reed once the suspension is lifted. A few strings and Kamski will have the detective transferred to the sixth precinct, where many of the detectives and captain are already under his belt. That way, there will always be red tape to keep Gavin from poking his nose where it doesn’t belong. And perhaps, once his brother has become more jaded, Kamski will be able to revisit trying to bring Gavin into the fold.

 

“Mr. Kamski, your 4:30 appointment has arrived,” a voice says over the intercom.

 

“Send him in,” Kamski answers.

 

Time to discipline a wayward subordinate.

 

Sitting back in his leather seat, Kamski takes the tumbler and finishes off the last of his drink as he waits. He expects Nines to come in quietly and isn’t surprised when the hit man enters without so much as a sound, approaching the drug lord’s desk with the same predatory grace of a silent stalker. The neutral expression he wears is something that’s taken years to school as Kamski still recalls the earlier days of their partnership, when Nines was an obnoxious, foul-mouthed teen with little filter. Not unlike certain company the gangster has kept of late.

 

But Kamski learned how to bend him and wield him to his full potential, manipulated and controlled Nines to become an apathetic killer who cared more about results than the thoughtless and senseless violence raging beneath his handsome exterior. At least, that’s how it was before Gavin Reed entered the picture. And the more enamored the gangster became with his sibling, the more Nines began to give a shit.

 

Kamski doesn’t need a hit man who _cares,_ in his own fucked up way, enough to torture and eviscerate a target. He needs one who follows orders and executes them immediately, without question. These recent slip ups have worn down his thin patience.

 

And that is why severing the gangster’s relationship with Reed had been necessary.

 

“I take it your ‘reunion’ with the detective hadn’t gone as expected,” Kamski begins, unable to keep his voice from dripping with condescension.

 

Murderous fury flashes in the gangster’s eyes but Kamski is pleased to see that he keeps his lips in a firm line, the only tell for his anger the fingers he’s digging into his palms at his sides.

 

Good.

 

“I had the situation under control,” Nines says.

 

There is a forced calm in his tone that isn’t fooling Kamski.

 

“If you had, you would not have disobeyed orders in the first place and severed contact with your target,” Kamski answers.

 

He sees a dark expression pass over the gangster’s face but it’s quickly tamed to a look of indifference, though there is a tightness to the gangster’s jaw. Given how important appearances are to the hit man, it’s the small details that let Kamski know the effects his lesson has had on the gangster: from the hairs that have fallen out of the place, to the hint of wrinkles in his normally pressed shirt. There are dark circles beneath his eyes, lines of stress the drug lord’s not used to seeing. This is Nines disheveled—distraught—and far more vulnerable to those baser emotions Kamski has tried to cleanse him of.

 

“I did as you asked: we had a reconciliation,” Nines says and there’s a dangerous waver in his voice, “What I fail to understand is why you would have me go through all of that if you had not wanted the detective under our influence any longer.”

 

“I have other ways of manipulating the detective that don’t involve you turning him into your own personal fuck toy,” Kamski replies, noting how the gangster reacts to his callous words. And then, the drug lord grimaces because he really doesn’t need the mental image of Nines and his brother engaging in...well, _that_.

 

Like a string pulled taut, Nines stiffens, a slow frown forming on his lips.

 

Bemusedly, Kamski wonders how much more it would take for the hit man to snap.

 

“I am disappointed, Nines. I thought my meaning was clear.”

 

When the gangster gives him only a confused look, Kamski continues, “I felt it was about time to teach you a valuable lesson: anything I have given you, I can take away should I find you are _under-performing._ ”

 

The realization has naked contempt twisting Nines’ handsome features, lips curling in a sneer. “You sent me to Reed with the intention of revealing everything to him.”

 

Kamski laughs, a deep, throaty chuckle that only makes the gangster’s glare deepen. “Nines, you hardly give me enough credit. Did you ever wonder how Lieutenant Anderson ended up at that hotel bar in the first place?”

 

When the drug lord is met with only a venomous stare, he gives the gangster the answer he hadn’t sought.

 

“I had one of our detectives at the DPD set everything in motion, with a ‘tip’ to your whereabouts. I had thought that if the Lieutenant discovered you, Detective Reed’s suspension would be inevitable. Without the detective in a position to implicate you, I was going to order you to terminate the relationship,” Kamski admits, watching as Nines’ fists tremble at his sides, as if the gangster is struggling to keep from striking the drug lord. “However, I never expected you to take it upon yourself to end things with the target before the order was given. So, as you can imagine, I had no choice but to make you aware of the consequences of disobeying me.”

 

“You never gave me any indication of your plans,” Nines hisses, voice hitching with that anger he’s failing to contain. “Had you informed me—”

 

“I shouldn’t have to inform you of anything!” Kamski snaps, rising from his seat to his full height. “I order, you _follow_! You acted without my permission and almost jeopardized everything!”

 

“A miscalculation is hardly worth these childish mind games!”

 

“Now that is where you are mistaken,” Kamski says, slowly rounding his desk to face the gangster. A violent tremor has that icy gaze turning towards him, a coil ready to spring. “You were getting in too deep. I need you at the top of your game and not a slave to something as pathetic as sentiment.”

 

He gets right into Nines’ space, sees how the gangster vibrates with a fury he’s only waiting for a reason to unleash. With a cold, condescending laugh, Kamski adds, “Did you really think I’d let some unhinged errand boy continue to fuck my brother?”

 

And that’s as taut as Nines will be pulled, his patience snapping.

 

Raw ire burns in the gangster’s cold eyes and it’s all the warning Kamski’s given as he’s grabbed roughly, thrown down on top of his desk. A firm hand grasps at his throat, pressing down hard on his windpipe and in his panic, Kamski is kicking out, clawing at the gangster’s wrist.

 

“Insult me all you want! But do not presume for one second that I will merely bend over every time the whim strikes you!” Nines shouts, adding his other hand and squeezing so tightly, Kamski can feel the edge of his vision begin to go fuzzy. “I am just as capable of destroying your life as you are mine and I am sick of being used like a fucking dog!”

 

His lungs burn, screaming for air he cannot inhale. He helplessly scrapes at Nines’ wrists, feels one of his feet connect with the gangster’s chest, but Nines is an impenetrable force, sneering and snapping at the drug lord as he painfully snuffs the life out of him.

 

Just as Kamski feels his consciousness begin to slip, the pressure on his throat relinquishes and the drug lord chokes and gasps for air. He coughs and grasps at his throat, watery gaze staring up at the high ceiling of his office, wheezes until the erratic pounding of his heart begins to settle.

 

There’s a grunt of pain and Kamski dizzily sits himself up, glares blearily at the figure thrown to the floor, two of his body guards stomping and kicking at the gangster. Exhaling painfully, Kamski manages to choke out, “Enough!”, his voice coming out in a low rasp.

 

One of the men pulls Nines onto his knees by his hair and Kamski’s delighted to see blood pouring down the gangster’s chin from his busted nose.

 

Standing dizzily to his feet, Kamski waves off the other body guard who comes to his aid.

 

“I must admit,” Kamski starts, pauses to cough uncomfortably. His aching throat makes each word strain his vocal chords but it doesn’t keep him from looming over the gangster, as threatening as a wounded beast, “it’s good to know you still have a bit of fight in you. You see: that’s what I’ve always liked about you, Nines. You never fail to surprise me.”

 

Then he smacks his hand hard across the gangster’s face, adding to the faded bruises on Nines’ left cheek. Nines barely flinches, eyes remaining contemptuously on Kamski, even as he slowly licks at the blood on his lips.

 

“But don’t think I will let this act of insubordination go unpunished,” Kamski hisses. He pulls his switchblade from out of his back pocket, lets it sit in his hand as he takes a few paces away from Nines, as if to mull over his next move. He feels the gangster’s eyes follow him, burning with a kind of hatred that makes something twisted curl in Kamski’s chest. For as much as he’s tried to beat Nines down into submission, there is something almost beautiful about the way his sociopathic mind works, as if Kamski can see all the ways Nines wants to inflict his anger on the drug lord’s flesh in a simple gaze. “For too long, I have been lenient. All because of my fondness for you. But, I think it is about time I show you the penalty for crossing the line.”

 

He nods to his men and they force Nines to his feet. Unfazed, the gangster says, “If you are thinking of ‘taking away my toys’, need I remind you I survived _before_ without your help and I can do so again.”

 

“You did? Because, if I recall,” Kamski says, with a smirk, “you needed my assistance in getting rid of a body both _you_ and _your brother_ had clumsily hid. Without my intervention, both of you would still be doing time for when it inevitably would have washed up. And let’s not forget: you were selling whatever you could on the street before I came into the picture.”

 

He walks around Nines, his calculating gaze watching as a muscle twitches in Nines’ jaw. But the gangster holds back, speaking only with the ire in his icy stare.

 

“You still have your uses. And until your use wears out, I expect you to do as I say.”

 

Stopping in front of Nines, Kamski takes his chin in hand, grips it tightly when the gangster tries to turn out of his grasp. “You know what everyone is always telling me? How ‘pretty’ my lovely associate is. It would be a shame if anything were to happen to that face...”

 

Nines’ eyes widen as Kamski clicks on the knife’s handle, releasing the blade. Letting go of Nines’ chin, the drug lord indicates to the table and the henchmen push the struggling gangster forward, throwing him chest first across it. Nines curses and tries to free himself but he’s pinned tightly, which will make this next part significantly easier.

 

Rounding his desk, Kamski stands in front of Nines, his eyes drinking in the sight of the gangster with sick amusement. He forces open Nines’ mouth, blade sliding between Nines’ parted lips, and sets it against the right side. He laughs as he sees true fear flashing in the gangster’s gray eyes. It takes a lot to get the gangster to buckle when it comes to showing such weakness. He should have figured it would be something as simple as attacking the fool’s vanity.

 

“It is a pity: you are quite a handsome creature and I have certainly enjoyed having my fill of you,” Kamski says, his gaze lingering over the gangster, “in positions not unlike the one you’re in now. I wonder what the detective will think after I’m through carving up your face.”

 

Nines makes one final attempt to escape but it’s no use. Kamski begins to drag the blade from the corner of Nines’ mouth, slices the serrated knife up through the gangster’s cheek. Blood pours from the wound, smearing the gangster’s chin. Nines tries to swallow a cry of pain but it escapes through the new wound and Kamski keeps cutting, separating the skin of the gangster’s cheek as crudely and painfully as possible. He angles the knife, scraping his blade against the bone in Nines’ cheek and dragging its tip up to the gangster’s temple.

 

When he’s finished, Nines drops his head to the desk, shuddering. The air is thick with the scent of copper and Kamski makes a face as he sees all the blood pooling the surface of the rich wood. But he’s not quite finished punishing the gangster yet.

 

“Not that Detective Reed will have a chance to see your hideous face.”

 

He grabs the gangster’s face, thumb pressing into the separated flesh of Nines’ face. Saliva and blood stain his fingers and he lets the blade tauntingly graze the skin of Nines’ left cheek: a warning. “If you so much as go near by brother again, I’ll finish the other side... _after_ I ensure that Lieutenant Anderson has an unfortunate accident on the job.”

 

Letting go of Nines, Kamski pulls out a black handkerchief and wipes his blade. He tosses the handkerchief on the gangster’s back, motions for his men to release him. Nines, however, remains bent over and exhaling sharply as he bleeds from his wound.

 

Kamski places his hand on Nines’ shoulder, feels the gangster wince. He squeezes, reassuringly. “Relax, Nines. I am not without mercy. I’ll send for someone to patch you up. Though, I must warn you: his handiwork’s not the best.”

 

Before leaving his office, Kamski’s departing words hang in the air with the magnitude of how he fully intends to make every one of his threats a reality, should the gangster give him reason to. “Oh, and Nines? Don’t **ever** lay your hands on me again.”

 

Once in the hallway, Kamski goes to his private elevator, rubs at his neck as he waits. He doesn’t need a mirror to know that a nice series of bruises have started forming there, pain bursting across the tender flesh. Had he known Nines had it in him, Kamski would have reconsidered some aspects of their... _arrangement_ , back when he took a mild interest in fucking the handsome gangster.

 

He messages Dr. Larson on the way down to the labs. The doctor knows the kinds of marks Kamski likes to leave and once he’s put his hands on Nines, the wound will heal in a way that’ll leave twisted scars, disfiguring the right side of Nines’ face permanently. So much for being handsome.

 

Serves the idiot right.

 

Once on the lower level, Kamski heads straight through a pair of doors, the words CYBERLIFE flashing in a holographic shade of blue, above the entrance. His pet project, something he created two years ago shortly after meeting a young chemist from Yale, Chloe Weber.

 

Kamski still remembers how little he had thought of the doe-eyed wallflower, his only interest upon introduction to get her on his knees and sucking him off before the boring speeches started at the university’s fundraiser. Her repeated rejection of his advances quickly caught his interest and it wasn’t long before he became aware of how brilliant she was and—most importantly—how everyone else in her field overlooked her, taking her for nothing more than a pretty face.

 

“Her proposal for a self-sustaining biofuel is absurd. Not only has she failed to stabilize this ‘thirium’ she claims to be working on, but she has wasted enough of the university’s funding for a failed project,” one of the scientists had whispered snidely to Kamski. Another kiss ass hoping Kamski would fund his own proposal currently in development. “They’ll be cutting off her funding by the end of the term. Another waste. That’s what happens when you squander money on a scientist whose intellect is her least exceptional _attribute_.”

 

The contempt in the man’s voice had only endeared Kamski more to the young chemist. And once he became familiar with the project the university was threatening to shut down, Kamski saw only opportunity where everyone else saw a little girl with dreams too big for herself.

 

So Kamski built Chloe a lab. Within 6 months, she had stabilized the formula for thirium. Within a year, they had a working fuel that could permanently replace fossil fuels at a fraction of the cost. And now with the mayor in Kamski’s pocket, the world is about to be introduced to thirium and Detroit is set to become the first city to officially replace fossil fuel with thirium, once the city legislation goes through.

 

Kamski walks towards where he had left Chloe earlier, barely acknowledging the few technicians passing through the halls. He takes one of the masks near the wall, places it over the lower part of his face, and enters into a lab tucked at the end of the hallway.

 

Chloe’s busy mixing together different chemical components, brows furrowing as she glances over at the formula projected holographically in front of her. Numerous beakers and some stimulants litter the surface of her work space. She takes one of the beakers containing a blue liquid, and motions for Kamski to come over.

 

“Progress?” he asks her, looking pointedly at what she is holding.

 

He had been disappointed to have to relieve her of all her part time secretarial duties the month before but seeing as they are on the eve of revolutionizing the world, Kamski’s been eager to witness the fruit of her efforts.

 

“I think this may interest you.”

 

She puts the beaker down, takes one of the Petri dishes containing a white substance, _**C**_ _ **17**_ _ **H**_ _ **21**_ _ **NO**_ _ **4**_ —cocaine—and then adds about a gram of it to a spoon. Next, she adds half a gram of sodium bicarbonate.

 

“Chloe...while I admire your efforts to impress me with your knowledge of stimulants, I can assure you I am very familiar with how to make crack cocaine,” Kamski says.

 

He’s fairly certain she is wearing a sheepish smile beneath her mask, though the brightness in her eyes almost seems to be quietly judging him. “Patience, Mr. Kamski. I’m not quite done yet.”

 

Turning on a bunsen burner, she then adds drops of thirium, instead of water, to the spoon. The thirium bubbles and, much to Kamski’s surprise, the liquid turns a dark shade of red as it blends with the cocaine and baking soda.

 

Shutting off the burner, Chloe carefully removes the remaining liquid, leaving the red freebase to crystallize. Tiny, red rocks begin to form as she sets it aside to dry.

 

Kamski’s eyes light up with interest. “That’s a neat trick. But have you tested the effects of it yet?”

 

“If you would follow me over here, Mr. Kamski.”

 

She takes him to a small room connected to the lab, cages of rats set along the back wall. In the center of the room is a table with two cages, each with three rats, a laptop and tablet set near them. Chloe hands the tablet to Kamski.

 

“Over the last week, I have been monitoring the behavior and vitals of the rats. The first group has been exposed exclusively to a liquid concentration of cocaine while the second group has only had the thirium composition of the drug. The time between doses has been 9 to 12 hours. Notice anything different between the two groups?”

 

Kamski glances between the two cages. The group exposed to cocaine appear slightly agitated and restless, moving about the cage with no clear purpose. The second group, on the other hand, are far more aggressive and violent, nipping at each other whenever another rat ventures too close. The rats in both cages are malnourished but otherwise, active as if they haven’t been consuming less food.

 

“This one’s missing a tail.”

 

Chloe nods. “Though I have been dosing both groups at the same times, in regular intervals, the rats exposed to the thirium-cocaine have become increasingly more aggressive between doses, suggesting higher levels of addiction.”

 

“You’re saying you’ve simulated something more addictive than crack-cocaine?”

 

“Unlike regular cocaine, the thirium adds a higher psychological and physical dependency on the drug, though we may need further testing to confirm those results.”

 

Kamski smirks. “I’m impressed, Chloe. You’ve proven to be more useful than the idiots I have brewing for me in their basements.”

 

“I aim to please, Mr. Kamski,” Chloe answers, humble as ever. “Though you should hold your praise until you’ve seen the drug in effect.”

 

She presses a few keys on the computer and tubes attached to the cages refill with a liquid concentration of their respective drugs. Like clockwork, the rats detect the change and scurry over to the tube nearest them, self-administering a dose by injection. The response is immediate, with the rats in both cages becomes more erratic.

 

Kamski glances to the tablet, which monitors the heart rate of the rats. Upon pressing on an application, a scanner activates in both cages and brings up the brain activity of the subjects, focusing particularly on the increase in dopamine. There seems little difference between either group.

 

“The results are identical,” he points out.

 

“By adding low levels of thirium to a cocaine concentration, the physiological effects are near indistinguishable from those of regular cocaine,” Chloe says. “Yet, I’ve observed an increase in physical dependency. So far, it seems the drug is no more dangerous than its derivative, though it is more addictive.”

 

A slow, malicious smirk begins to form on the drug lord’s lips.

 

“Chloe, my dear,” Kamski says, squeezing her shoulder, “I think your ‘red ice’ may have just changed the face of the drug trade in Detroit.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am not sure if I have stated this in comments or in conversations I have had about this series but Chapter 3 of Locked And Loaded was the end of everything I had initially outlined when I was playing with this idea back in November. Back then, I thought that if I ever wrote any of this done (or typed it up, as it were), that the most I would ever get through was One Shot, Two Shot and maaaaybe a sequel (Bad Boy Down). 9 Parts and more than 100k later, here we are! It’s the most I’ve ever published in a verse and the fact that it’s so different from the actual canon has made the response more shocking. The only reason there’s so much is because of the reader response. Otherwise, I would have been happy enough to let this idea sit in my head.
> 
> That being said, I will extend another thank you to everyone who has followed the series so far as you’re the reason I’ve enjoyed writing it. Special thanks in particular goes out to NixObscura for initially reaching out and letting me bombard her with my crazy ideas. Without the combined support of my friends and readers, none of this would have been possible.
> 
> Though it may seem like I am hinting at an end here, fear not, for those of you who still want more: I’ve thought of way to end this series and I think that the next part may be it. I’ve considered the worst possible endings and the ‘happiest’ and everything in-between. I will say this as warning: that having considered the actions of the characters and the current state of their relationships, I see anything that can be perceived as ‘happiness’ coming at great personal sacrifice. That doesn’t mean that a ‘happy’ ending is out of the question. It just means that both Nines and Gavin tend towards a kind of self-destruction that makes it more challenging for them to reach that point. So it’s still within the realm of possibility.
> 
> Addressing some of the science and drug stuff that came up in this part: as someone who has never even tried marijuana, I had to research about cocaine and crack cocaine and I swear if I was in any other country that heavily monitored internet activity, my recent Google searches would be raising some red flags. I used the following to try and (poorly) describe the type of experimentation Chloe was doing:
> 
> Rats self-administer cocaine
> 
> Research conducted on rats and addiction
> 
> This part is a departure from the typical POV and is most likely the first and last time we get to be in Kamski’s head. For those expecting a resolution between Gavin and Nines, it is not something I can write into a single chapter at this point. The wounds are still very raw for Gavin and even if/when they get to speaking again, it is something that would need time to rebuild the lost trust. 
> 
> If you made it through all my rambling, congrats! I hope that this answers some of the burning questions I have noticed come up in the comments :)


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